Paranormalities
by Sushi-taro
Summary: TEMPORARILY DISCONTINUED
1. Meeting a Global Enterprise

_Hey everyone! Thanks for even considering to click on this story. (I feel so honored~)_

_Anyhoo, this is my fist attempt at writing a fanfic, so any comments would really help me in a million ways! Be evil and overcritical if you want, but that means I'll hate you for life~ Naw, just kidding, I hope people leave happy comments!_

_Because the summary really sucked (sorry) I hope you guys just read and find out what happens!_

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**Chapter 1 – Meeting a Global Enterprise**

"Dude, you're still up?"

That voice made Arthur Kirkland look up from his desk and glared coldly at the man standing in the doorway with malicious yet tired emerald-green eyes. It had been three months since he'd joined the American Bureau of Paranormal Investigations and things hadn't been looking up. Since his arrival there had not been a single case, which was obviously causing the other three men employed to the dumb American to be restless and uneasy; though he didn't know them well, it was obvious to Arthur that each of them had a sound reason to be in need of work for the financial benefits. Since their pay-cuts a month ago, Arthur took it in his hands to sort out the mess of papers, receipts, and credit card records their boss kept littered around his cluttered office.

Of course it took the bloody idiot a good thirty-seven days before he noticed anything.

Alfred F. Jones stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a posture that suggested extreme sleep deprivation. He was wearing pajamas (that appeared to be made out of an oversized American flag) and alien slippers, his blond hair disheveled and glasses hanging off of his face at a lopsided angle. He returned Arthur's cold stare with a sleepy-eyed gaze while stifling a yawn with a spare hand. Seeing him in this state reminded Arthur that this tall man was really still a boy of just-nineteen, four years younger than he himself, though he usually carried himself in that prideful, cocky manner that many arrogant people in the United States seemed to. At the moment, though, he slouched with exhaustion.

"Whatcha doin'?" asked Alfred as another yawn broke through.

Arthur's eyes trailed back down to his desk. "Working."

"On what?"

"Something of utmost importance," he replied matter-of-factly, refusing to tear his eyes away from the screen. "I don't suppose you're interested at all."

He heard Alfred's padded feet drag their way over to where he sat. "You know it's, like, three in the morning, right?"

"Of course I do," the Britain snapped. "There is a clock on this computer."

Alfred, by then, was hardly listening. His attention was focused on the neat order of papers and calculators on Arthur's desk. The American's clear blue eyes travelled up to the bright screen displaying the large Excel file crammed with rows and columns of dates and numbers. "Did you organize all of this?"

"I did." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"Dude, you're totally amazing!" Before the Britain could stop it, Alfred pulled him into a backbreaking embrace which ruined what little order there was to the mountain of papers on his desk. They were both definitely awake now. "You, like, totally saved me so much work! I'm glad I hired you!"

Something inside the emotional control area of Arthur's brain shut down. He ripped himself out of the hug and sat down in his swivel chair heavily, his initial shock gone, and scowled furiously at Alfred. He jabbed a slim finger at the work he had done and hissed, "You really ought to be trying harder to save money. The financial status of this agency does not appear to be in any signs of improving in the near future, and your eating habits aren't helping at all."

"Aw, c'mon," whined the incompetent boy. "I'm livin' off bread and water here!"

"Then stop buying fast food," Arthur suggested with an irritable growl. "If you'd invested in a less expensive food substance than that bloody McDonald's down the street, we would have saved $1700 in the last three months! Honestly, how many items do you purchase there in a day?"

Alfred shrugged. "I dunno, maybe six things or so a meal. But it's not like I'm wasting money or anything! I get everything on the dollar menu!"

Arthur closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted from the release of his pent-up frustration. Eighteen dollars a day, not including snacks. Now that explained how one man could spend so much money on a single food substance. It was disgusting in the most unfathomable way.

"Never mind," he said, depleted, "Perhaps you could invest in a less expensive meal option. I'm sure there are some decent tinned foods that are somewhat edible, even in this country."

"Tinned? Don'tcha mean 'canned'?"

"Tinned, canned, it's all the same! Just stop wasting money on something indecent!"

Alfred crossed his arms over his chest, grinning wickedly. "And what if I refuse?" he asked sarcastically.

Arthur just sighed heavily and put his head in his hands. It was in moments like these where the young Britain wondered why he'd ever bothered moving to America. It was obvious he didn't fit in like the rest of the people did. He could never adjust to their easygoing natures or power-hungry objectives or over-optimistic airs. Even though he didn't want to admit it, Arthur knew that deep down he would always be that uptight boy his parents raised with pride, no matter where he went. No matter what he would do. Or did.

He shook his head and pushed the memories out of his head. He didn't need that sort of distraction now. Arthur knew why he was in America; his father himself had requested he take part in the agency to better himself in magic. Especially with what he had done to the family name when he was in high school. He was the only way the Kirkland family's name could be restored. If he could clean up his act, maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

_Maybe I'll be able to go home, _he thought despairingly. It wasn't as if there was anything waiting for him in London except rainy skies and proper tea, but even close-to-nothing was better than anything New York City could offer him. Working for three months for one dimwitted American teenager had hammered that in his mind.

"Look," said Alfred, which got Arthur to glance up. "I'm really, really sorry, okay? I'm trying. Who knows, maybe we'll get a case soon. Hell, I bet we will!"

Arthur rubbed his bleary eyes, leaned back, and groaned. He hated that man's optimism with a passion, and the fact it was so early in the morning didn't help one bit. "How on earth could you possibly think that?" he asked soberly.

"Well, if you watched Yao, he seems sorta off lately. I bet something's up with him that he doesn't wanna talk about now." Alfred shrugged and walked off. "Just a thought!"

Arthur watched the taller man leave before saving the files and shutting off the computer. He had to admit, something about the Chinese man was different; he seemed almost dejected. Arthur was shocked that Alfred had even noticed Yao's worry. Usually he couldn't read the air worth a damn. Still, the fact that Yao was so strung up could be a sign of something; the question was, what?

Though the thought seemed to be a topic of importance, Arthur was too tired to think about it. With it being so late (or early) he decided to get some rest on his office couch before the bureau opened. Grabbing his black robe and beige jacket from the closet, Arthur balled up the latter for a pillow and used the larger cloth as a makeshift blanket. The moment he had settled down on the lumpy maroon cushions he was out cold until his watch woke him at an early six thirty. It was then that Arthur went home, showered, dressed, and made breakfast [read: tried to make an edible breakfast].

_Just another day at that bloody office, _he thought bitterly, eating his…toast? _Maybe we'll be lucky enough to have a paycheck this week. Who knows? Perhaps Alfred will prove right for once. _

**ヘタリア**

The phone vibrated suddenly in Wang Yao's pocket, shocking him out of his half-hearted work. Yao pulled the buzzing device out and stared at the caller ID. _Im Yong Soo_. He quickly closed the cellular device and stowed it away in his pocket. It was rare that one of his 'brothers' called; though this made him exceedingly happy, something kept him from answering whenever it was one of them. Kiku hadn't called in years, so that wasn't even expected anymore. However, six calls from Yong Soo and two from Kiku in the last week left him worried. Now this was the seventh from the Korean.

"_What are you doing? I need those dishes washed right away!_"

Yao suppressed his anger and shouted back, "_Yes ma'am!_"

He was in a very bad mood. Because of the pay cuts at his day job in Alfred's company Yao was once again forced to work at Ming Yue, one of the numerous restaurants in Chinatown. Though he didn't mind having to carve an extra few hours out of his free time, the fact that he had to wash what felt like hundreds of thousands of dishes a day wasn't what he had in mind. Yao knew that he was a fairly good cook despite his youthful appearance. The fact that no one believed him didn't help to relieve his stress.

Well, there was one person who always complimented his cooking whenever he made meals to share at work, but that one person was probably the most terrifyingly intimidating being the Chinese man had ever known. The fact that this tall Russian man also stalked him didn't help impressions at all. It still puzzled to Yao as to why Ivan Braginski came from the office every single day to the restaurant he worked at just to eat dinner. Forget puzzling, it petrified Yao. He'd never had a stalker before, and now was not the time he needed one. Especially now.

Pushing the thought of the Russian out of his mind, Yao trained his big brown eyes on the mountain of plates, bowls, and utensils in front of him. The dish washing system wasn't the most efficient and Yao was glad he wasn't the one eating off one of them. Cleaning consisted of scraping off the larger leftovers into a compost bin, blasting away the residue with a high-power hose, soaking greasier gear in scalding soapy water, and killing any remaining germs in a heating device that kept everything warm. It took great skill to manage the dishes without hosing oneself or the surrounding vicinity; Yao was exceptionally good at it. That was probably another reason why he hadn't been promoted.

The noise of the kitchen and the stack of dishes made Yao feel less and less of a necessity. He needed a break.

"_I'm going out for a smoke!" _Yao shouted to his boss before walking out the back door. He didn't even bother to stop as her shrill voice and random swears followed him out. As the door slammed shut, Yao sighed and leaned against the garbage disposal that was opposite the exit. He didn't really smoke, but it was a good excuse to get out of the claustrophobic restaurant. Still, he carried a pack of cigarettes and a lighter just in case someone happened to come out and check on him. A few puffs wouldn't kill after all. An angry boss, however, probably could.

Yao pulled his long chestnut hair out of his face and redid his ponytail mechanically. He stretched, feeling the tension leaving his shoulders. Something in his lower back cracked and he winced. The Chinese man was relatively strong for his size, but his bones always ached after any period of strenuous exercise or being in one position too long. Washing dishes for twenty-or-so hours a week wasn't exactly ideal work for him.

The night air was considerably cooler than the stuffy kitchen. Yao felt the sweat that had accumulated on his back and shoulders condense and leave his body evaporating and sticky. He needed a shower. Badly. Yao pulled out his phone from his pocket to check the time. It was 9:45 PM, exactly forty-five minutes before the restaurant closed for the night; if he washed fast and the floor in the dining area wasn't incredibly dirty he would easily be home by midnight.

Yao stared at the phone in his hand. He had a minute or two before he was expected back in the restaurant…just enough time to return those constant calls he'd been receiving. The Chinese man glanced around; not a soul was in sight. Though something told him that he would regret the action, Yao dialed Yong Soo's number and put the receiver by his ear. He lit a cigarette as well, just in case.

The Korean teen picked up on the first ring. "Yao! Awesome, you got my calls!"

Yao held the phone away from his ear as the enthusiastic boy bellowed into the receiver. "Why are you calling, Yong Soo? I have a job I shouldn't be leaving."

"Straight to business. Sheesh, you're strict. You used to be way cooler." Yong Soo made an exaggerated sigh as Yao tapped his foot in irritation. "Well, you're working for a detective agency that deals with not-really-normal thingies now, right?"

"By that, you mean...?"

"Ghosts. Demons. The little aliens that stick anal probes up your butt."

The Chinese man rolled his eyes even though he knew that the other wouldn't be able to see the action before replying in nearly-flawless Korean, "I am, except without the aliens. Why does this concern you?"

"Great! My mom wants you to come to our place and check something out."

"'_My mom'_?" he repeated incredulously.

Yao was greeted by another irritating sigh. "Yes, my mom. I mean, c'mon, I'm not old enough to live on my own yet. If you were in the loop about my life like Kiku, you'd know that I was adopted recently."

"I didn't think that was possible." Ignoring the statement about Kiku, he asked, "How are you related to this woman?"

"Can't say over the phone, there might be hackers!"

Yao ignored the joke. "Why are you calling about my work? Last I checked, you hardly cared."

"Well, we…that is me, my mom, and my dad…we just moved into a new home. It was an old place, but we had it redone and everything so it's way cool and stuff. Anyway, I'm sure it's haunted."

"Really?" the Chinese man couldn't help but ask. "I highly doubt it."

"This is serious!" insisted Yong Soo. "I finished unpacking when the air conditioning broke. Not the actual thermostat, mind you, but the air was as cold as ice. Then the next night the floorboards were creaking down the hall even though no one was up. And then three days ago, I swore I saw a person's face behind me in the bathroom mirror! I caught it again yesterday morning before school. If you don't believe me I'll send you the picture on my phone! I swear it!"

"Calm down, Yong Soo. I believe you, though that picture would be helpful if it's authentic."

There was a quick pause. "Wait, you're serious?"

Yao smiled a little at that. "Of course I am. What kind of friend wouldn't look out for the other?"

"Thanks a bunch!" Yao could practically feel the smile from across the sea. "I'll send that picture right away!" He was about to say more, but a huge yawn tore through the line, making the receiver crackle.

"Tired?" asked Yao, though he already knew the answer.

"Are you kidding me? Of course I'm tired."

"What time is it in Korea?"

The reply was bleary. "Saturday. Too early. I'm not a morning person, you know."

"Your fault you called."

"Hey, I was up all night hoping you'd reply to my calls."

"Then sleep more if you have time to waste like that!"

Yong Soo chuckled a little on the other end of the line before letting out another long yawn. "Maybe I will. Well, see you in the near future then."

"Wait, what!" Yao sputtered. "I didn't even accept the case—"

The line cut off.

"—yet."

Yao groaned and shut his phone with a snap. A few curses were running through his head, but he had to admit that a case would be everything the agency needed.

"Who was that?" asked a soft voice from Yao's left shoulder.

The Chinese man let out a cry of shock, dropped his phone, and turned around sharply to see Ivan Braginski leaning over, level to where Yao's shoulder had been a second before. The Russian watched the other with unblinking, focused violet eyes before breaking into a wide grin. "Hello Yao! I didn't know you smoked. "

"I don't," the other managed to choke out. He'd completely forgotten about the burning tobacco between his fingers, which was now almost completely ashes. "What are you doing here?"

"You work here, _da_? I decided to come and visit."

_That can't be all a stalker wants_, Yao thought wearily. "And?"

Ivan opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted as the door behind Yao swung open. One of the other men who worked at the restaurant popped his head out nervously. "Yao, you done with your smoke? 'Cause if you are, the boss needs you back in."

Yao could hear the screeches his boss was emitting at an unfortunate server. He nodded before crushing the cigarette on the pavement under his foot. "Tell her I'll be there in a minute." As the other vanished from sight, Yao looked back at Ivan. "I should get going. Can you tell me whatever it was you wanted to say tomorrow at work?"

"I was planning on staying until your shift was over," he replied as nonchalantly as was possible, another smile fixated on his face.

"Um, right…see you later."

Yao rushed back into the restaurant hoping that Ivan was just joking.

**ヘタリア**

The last of the kitchen staff left, giving Yao a goodbye wave and a 'zai jian'. Yao nodded as he left before walking out to the restaurant's dining area. Tonight was not his lucky night. The first floor had four large tables that could seat up to eight each as well as eight booths; of them, two tables were wiped clean, the rest left to suffer. There was food spilled on the floor too: fried rice drizzled in oyster sauce, half a dumpling, egg drop soup, spicy shrimp and broccoli. It appeared as though a family with a young child who loved finger painting sat in one of the booths. Yao groaned. It was going to be a very long night.

He didn't dare look upstairs where an additional seven tables were set up. That, he would save for later. In the meantime, he had to clean up the spills before they permanently stained the faded red carpet. The second floor dining was hardwood so it could wait.

As Yao returned to the kitchen for the cleaning supplies he heard a knock on the backdoor. Curious, he opened it cautiously to find Ivan on the other side, hand still up in the knocking position.

"Ivan? What are you doing here?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing. I saw the others leave, including the woman who likes to yell at you." He poked his head in and looked around. "Are you the only one still here?"

He nodded. "I clean up after everyone goes home. Aside from my boss – that's the woman who's always screaming – I'm the only one with a key, so I finish and lock up. I get paid extra for it, so…" Yao trailed off and shrugged. They both understood what this implied: they did what they had to do to pay the bills.

"So why are you still here?" Yao asked, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen.

Ivan seemed a bit confused by the question. "I thought I promised I was staying until you were done with work?"

"I didn't think…oh, never mind." _I didn't think you were serious when you said that! _"I just have to clean up. You should go home. It's going to take me at least an hour."

"Who said I was going to leave?" he asked, with a smile of reassurance on his face. Somehow, Yao found that Ivan's reassuring smile wasn't that reassuring. If anything, it was plain creepy.

**ヘタリア**

"You really don't have to do this," Yao reminded his coworker for about the millionth time.

Ivan just shook his head and smiled. "It's okay. I have nothing better to do, and besides, that means I get to spend more time with you. Then we can both go home a bit earlier than usual, _da_?"

Yao nodded, unable to deny the logic. Still…

He finished sweeping off the last of the sullied tables with the wet towel before spraying it with disinfectant and wiping it with a fresh yet grubby rag. He hated how the other workers treated him, especially the waiters. They never cleaned off the last tables and sometimes left dirty dishes lying around as they had tonight. This usually happened on busy nights with low tips. From the number of orders and his boss's shrill shouts that night, that was probably the case.

Yao watched Ivan cautiously. The Russian seemed genuinely happy vacuuming up the food scraps. Though nothing appeared to be too troublesome in the work, Yao kept a wary distance from the other. There was just something overall creepy about Ivan's way of putting things, his love of blood and gore, his relative lack of normal communication. The way he hovered around Yao like a sunflower following the sun each day.

It just wasn't…normal.

Instead of questioning this strange behavior, Yao turned back to the wall and began scrubbing away the sauce on the wall. There were more important things to concentrate on now than Ivan's nonhuman attitude. Pressing matters included what Yong Soo had called about.

It was quite possible to be the next potential case, the first in over three months. By the sounds of it, this adopted family had a fair share of money in the bank. Any big clients at this point in time, no matter how hard the case, was worth it. Especially since Yong Soo was an old friend of Yao's. As long as that picture was proof, Alfred would be on it like ketchup to fries.

Yao finished the spot on the wall, a small smile of contempt forming. There was still a chance to save the agency!

**ヘタリア**

Cleaning took about half the usual time. It was amazing what another pair of hands could do. Ivan helped Yao pile the cleaning supplies back into the closet wordlessly before following him out the door. Yao pulled out the key and locked both entrances, checking they were secure. He was lucky today; the second floor was all but completely clean.

"Well," added Yao, facing Ivan, "thanks for all the help."

"You're welcome."

"I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"_Da_."

"Great, good night." Yao reached into his pocket to put the key in it, only to freeze. "_Aiyah_!"

"What is it?"

"I dropped my cell phone!" He began patting himself down frantically. "Yong Soo said he would send me something!"

Ivan reached into his pocket and pulled out the white flip phone, Hello Kitty charm attached and undamaged. "Here. You never picked it up when you dropped it earlier."

"_Xie xie_," Yao replied, taking the phone and opening it. Sure enough, there was a text from the Korean. He hit the button that opened the text. Sure enough, there was a picture of a bleary-eyed Yong Soo in the mirror of what appeared to be a very grand bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth. Yao was about to laugh at the ridiculous snapshot when he saw the shadowy reflection to the right of his friend.

Ivan noticed the change in his coworker. "What is it?"

Without uttering a word, Yao handed his phone to Ivan, who took a long look at it. His eyes widened a bit in shock.

"What does this mean?"

The petit Chinese man looked up at Ivan, unblinking and serious. "It means we're going to Korea." A million emotions went whizzing though him in a frantic sort of way. All other thoughts were forgotten. "It means we've got a case."

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_OMG~_

_I still can't believe I finished this and posted this for the world to see! I don't know if I'm embarrassed or scared or proud. Probably all three, and then some. Anyhoo, please please please please please leave some comments. Or something..._

_I will continue this, so Chapter 2 should be up by next week! The first case title: An Open Palm, a Brandished Sword, and a Plate of Kimchi. Yeah...I'm the lame one who thought of case titles before finishing the cases...Well, this case will feature our three major Asian nations: China, Japan, and South Korea. I apologize in advance if the characters are really out of character. It's just how I roll, eh?_

_Bye-bye for now~_

_-Sushi_


	2. Case 1 – Part 1

_Wait, people are still reading this? Oh, happy day!_

_Well everyone, here is Chapter 2. It may say that this is a case, but I warn you: there is no awsome ghost-hunting action or anything like that yet; I'm still in the middle of character development. I know, right? Who develops characters that everyone already knows? Don't worry, I spared you all of the boring physical descriptions._

_Anyhoo, read on and bear with me. We will get to Korea in the next chapter! K, bye~_

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**Chapter 2 – Case #1 – An Open Palm, a Brandished Sword, and a Plate of Kimchi: Part 1**

"Ya sure this is a ghost, Yao?" Alfred looked up from the photo, skeptical. "If not, we're running all the way to Korea on virtually nothing."

Yao nodded. He was seated before Alfred, who was comfortably sitting at the front desk in the conference room. Francis sat to his left, Arthur the right, and Ivan (who normally sat next to Yao) was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm aware of the financial difficulties, but I'm also aware that Yong Soo isn't the type of person to lie. He may over-exaggerate and whine from time to time, but he has never told a straight lie before. Trust me, I've known him for many years now."

"I'm not doubting you or anything, 'kay dude?" Alfred gave the photograph to Francis. "What do you think?"

"It seems legitimate, though slightly dangerous," sighed the Frenchman after examining it for a few moments.

Alfred nodded in agreement. "It's not gonna be easy. Hell, I'll bet my ass someone's gonna get hurt in this one with this one!"

"Is it worth it?" Yao asked quietly.

Arthur finally spoke, setting his cup of tea down. "Does it appear to us, gentlemen, that we have a choice?"

The nervous silence that followed answered his question.

**ヘタリア**

Alfred finished his burger, licking his fingers clean. He turned to his companions, a sunny smile on his face, and said, "So remind me again, where exactly are we going and what exactly's going on there?"

Arthur visibly bristled. "For the last time, read the case file for yourself, you bloody idiot!"

"Ohonhon." Francis chuckled. "Someone has lost his temper, _non_?"

"Shut up, you wine-loving frog!"

Snap. "What did you call me, you caterpillar-eyebrowed tea drinker?"

"You heard me, you French bastard!" shouted the Britain, grabbing Francis by the collar of his dress shirt.

"Aha ha! You guys are getting along real well!"

"_Non, je le déteste!_"

"As if I'd ever get along with **him**!"

Yao sighed as the Britain began to mutter some sort of explicit curse under his breath directed at Francis, who was glaring him down, and Alfred, who was laughing as usual. It was typical that the threesome argued heatedly, but it was embarrassing that they managed to find a reason to yell at each other in public. Especially in the airport where everyone was staring at them.

Ivan, who was walking beside Yao, looked down (because he looked down upon everybody he met) and said, "They really like to fight, don't they?"

"_Shi a_," he replied wearily.

"Are you okay? You look very tired."

Yao offered the Russian a weak smile and nodded. To be honest, he was exhausted. With all the last minute plans and his late part-time shift at one of the numerous restaurants in Chinatown, he was far from okay. On top of that, Yong Soo had called him for the millionth time to make sure he was coming to Korea without a care in the world that there was a thirteen hour time difference between New York and Seoul. Basically, Yao had only managed to get three or so hours of sleep before getting up and making his way to the airport.

_Maybe I can sleep in the plane. It is a long second flight from Chicago to Tokyo, and we have three hours to transfer to the next plane to Seoul, _he thought hopefully. The idea seemed highly unlikely considering the way the seating had worked out. Because there were only first-class seats available for that second flight, he'd had to pull too much money out of the bank; unless the reward for this case was good, there was probably no future in store for the agency. Just the thought of the costs caused his body to stiffen and cold sweat to freeze his fingers. There was no way Yao could sleep on such a disastrous reality.

As if reading his mind, Ivan reached over and patted him gently on the back. The small gesture made Yao feel at ease a little more than he had moments before despite the fact that he was dead terrified of the Russian. He rested his head on Ivan's arm and closed his eyes.

"You are tired, _da_?"

"I am," he mumbled, eyes still shut and feet dragging.

"You stayed up to plan the trip?"

Yao tried to reply, but his words were caught in a noteworthy yawn.

He didn't see Ivan's smile, but it was there. It was a good thing the Russian was so large; he carved an easy path through the crowd and guided a half-asleep Yao easily to their gate.

"You have to wake up. Alfred can't find his travel documents."

Roused from his nap and extremely irritated, Yao dug through his carry-on bag and handed the panicking American his passport and tickets. It still surprised him slightly that the man forgot Yao was in charge of bringing and distributing all of their travel documents. He had been hired as a secretary, after all!

As the five men boarded the plane and found their respective seats, Yao closed his eyes and let himself drift into an uneasy sleep, ignoring the fact that Alfred was plotting to chuck mini pretzels at Arthur's head. This was going to be a long two flights.

**ヘタリア**

_The forest smelled of sharp pine and smoke. Though the country had burned from the bombing it took, the mountains away from the cities had been left undisturbed. There was a sense of familiarity to this place that made him relax and forget about the world in wreckage around him._

_He heard the sound of the sword leaving its sheath before he saw it. Such an ugly, biting sound followed by an ugly, biting motion as the sharpened blade danced across his back in one, straight stroke._

_Pain._

_His back exploded as it flared across his back, the agony overwhelming his pitiful frame. He doubled over in pain, into the bed of pine needles on the floor of the dark, dank forest. He was on his hands and knees now as he felt his own blood soak through the thin material of his shirt._

_Turning, he looked over his ravaged shoulder at the man standing above him. The sunlight streamed from behind him, shadowing his figure except for his eyes, which glinted flat and brown. His hair was a black halo and his sword was a beam of light dripping with red. The katana was raised, but not in a matter of fighting._

"_I'm sorry Yao," he said, voice devoid of emotion, "but from this day on, I believe it would be best if we face our futures separately."_

_Those words; they were so cold, so numbing. Yet they burned him. And he was begging, crying, pleading, "Why aru? Don't go! Don't leave me!" He was leaving. "Please aru!"_

_Those words went unnoticed._

_He was fading._

"_Please aru…"_

"Yao?"

Yao gasped and bolted up in surprise. He immediately wished he hadn't. Ivan's skull hit his forehead with a resonating _thwack_! Yao groaned as his eyes closed and multi-colored stars sparked through his black vision. "_Aiyah_, my head…"

"Yao! I'm so sorry!" Ivan panicked. He placed a hand on the smaller man's swelling forehead and asked, "Are you okay?"

"I will be," the other mumbled in reply. He jerked away from Ivan's touch and went to get ice. Yao's head was spinning a little, but otherwise he was okay. Having previously sustained head injuries over the years he was used to the pain. A very kind and portly flight attendant was able to pull some ice out of the cooler, giving him a bagful and the promise of landing soon.

After thanking her and making his way back to his seat, Yao heard the announcement come on. As the copilot began to translate the message in Japanese, Arthur kicked Alfred violently awake. Francis closed his magazine and stretched leisurely. Ivan still held Yao in a very firm gaze which made goose bumps form on his thin arms.

Within forty-five minutes, the five were setting foot in the Tokyo-Narita Airport.

**ヘタリア**

Feliciano Vargas looked up from his bowl of _udon_ and compared his meal to that of the man's sitting to his left. The steaming soup fogged its way into his bright brown eyes as he stared at Honda Kiku's lunch.

"Why isn't the fish cooked?"

"That is how it is made, Feliciano-_kun,_" said Kiku, acknowledging the twenty-year-old's quizzical look. "It is a _maguro donburi_. The chef takes raw tuna with soy sauce, _nori_, and _wasabi_,and puts it on vinegar rice. It is very good and nutritious."

The Italian perked up. "Do you think they make that with tomatoes?"

"I do not think this dish would go very well with tomatoes," Kiku replied, flustered. "But I have heard that avocado makes a very good substitute. Would you like to try some of my _donburi_?"

"Ve~ I'd love to!"

Ludwig watched the two other men talk about their food. He was quite pleased that the airport had very good restaurants. The last time he had traveled with his brother, they ended up sick for the remainder of the day. He learned to be more hesitant around American fast food after that little experience. He tried to use his chopsticks to eat his _yakitori_, failing miserably. Kiku noticed immediately and called the waitress over. Thirty seconds later, both Ludwig and Feliciano had common western utensils sitting in front of them.

"_Danke_," the German said gruffly.

Kiku waved away the gratitude with a small smile. "It is no trouble. The people in my country are use to Westerners' inability to use chopsticks."

It was almost funny how such a kindly-meant gesture could become a statement of blunt offence. Almost. Ludwig nodded and started eating his gilled (and salted) chicken; everything in this country seemed to be salted. It wasn't bad, but it made him wonder how the Japanese people managed to live so long with so much salt in their diets. Maybe he would ask Kiku about that someday.

"Ludwig, the fish stuff is really good!"

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, patting the brunette on the head.

Feliciano held up a spoonful to the German's mouth. "You should try some too, ve!"

He hesitated, but reluctantly accepted the bite of fish and rice. It was seasoned lightly, exceedingly simple, but good. Ludwig nodded appreciatively, causing Feliciano to beam. Though the two men were only a few months apart in age, Feliciano was more like an overexcited ten-year-old by nature. In fact, he was immature in numerous aspects that frustrated Ludwig more than not. Feliciano couldn't tie his own shoes, usually ate only pasta, tomatoes, and gelato, spent extensive hours of the day (when he should be working) painting or having _siestas_, and lived with the German because he didn't like being alone. Somehow, Ludwig suspected that his friend was unable to figure out how to pay his own apartment's rent, thus choosing to live with him. Still, it bewildered him that Feliciano somehow managed to slip into bed next to him each night…

He snapped out of the thought as Feliciano reached over his arm to grab a piece of chicken with his hands and popped it into his mouth. "Feliciano! What do you think you're doing?"

"Ve? You had some of my food so I should have some of yours too."

"That wasn't yours to share in the first place! You stole it from Kiku!"

"But he offered it to me~"

"Then it was for you to eat! If I wanted any I would have asked! And don't eat with your hands; we have utensils for a reason!"

"Ve~ I'm sorry Ludi, so please don't be mad~"

Kiku smiled a little as he watched his two friends argue. Though they would sometimes get into petty arguments such as this, he knew that deep down they cared for one another, only in the way that the closest of friends would.

The sound of a door opening from behind and the restaurant employees shouting their greetings interrupted the German and the Italian. It was a wake-up call that they were still in public. Muttering a hasty apology, Ludwig continued to pick at his yakitori as Feliciano's undivided attention returned to his own lunch. Kiku was about to eat his own meal too when footsteps sounded behind him. They stopped, and an all-too familiar voice joined the absence of sound.

"Kiku _aru_?"

His happy face became immediately impassive as he heard his name. "Yao-_san_, I didn't think you would be in Japan."

"I could say the same," retorted Yao, sitting next to the Japanese man, who sat stone-still.

"This is my home country. You should know that by now."

The Chinese man rolled his eyes. "I meant the airport."

Ludwig noted how Kiku lacked response to the unknown man's comments (not that he usually reacted to much of anything) and the way the Japanese man was avoiding eye contact. Feliciano seemed to notice the tension too as he began to look back and forth between the newcomer and his friend, worried ve's creeping out of his mouth, which lacked its usual sunny smile.

"If you must know," Kiku began to reply coldly, "I am here with my coworkers waiting for a connection flight to Korea. We were requested to come by Yong Soo. I have a feeling that is the same reason why you are here as well."

"Unfortunately, looks like we'll be working together then."

Kiku nodded solemnly. "Since you are here, it would only be polite to introduce my fellow associates. This is Feliciano Vargas and Ludwig Beilschmidt. Ludwig-_san_, Feliciano-_kun_, this is Wang Yao. He was an old friend of mine some time ago."

"Pleased to meet you," the German said gruffly.

Yao shook his hand firmly. "Likewise."

Feliciano, feeling the tension building, asked, "Are you from Japan too, Yao?"

"No. I am from China, Mr…"

"Vargas. But call me Feliciano. Everyone does. Unless you're my _fratello_, then he calls me _idiota _or_ bastardo. _Sometimes Ludi will call me _dumkoff_ too, 'cause he can be a bit of a sour sport, and-"

"Enough, Feliciano," growled Ludwig, rubbing his temples. There was definitely a headache coming on.

Yao took the open seat next to Ludwig, leaning over to continue his conversation with Feliciano. "From your accent, I presume you are Italian?"

"_Si_! I grew up along the Mediterranean with my _papa_, _mama_, and _fratello_!"

"I have always been a fan of Italian cuisine. Do you cook as well, by chance?"

"_Si, certo_!"

As the two of them began to converse, the tension surrounding them dissipated. Kiku returned to his _donburi_ and ate mechanically. As he feared, Yong Soo had taken the opportunity to invite both the American and the German branches of Paranormal Investigation Bureaus just to see his two friends. Either that or whatever they would be facing would be particularly dangerous.

Ludwig watched his friend fall into a lapse of deep thought. He sighed; this was going to be a long case.

* * *

_Wait, you're still hear? And your reading my Author's Note? *happy crying~*_

_Okay, I am so sorry for the random breaks in time. I really couldn't think of what to put in between._

_By the by, I am using my minimal studies of French, Russian, and Chinese (and I will continue to) as well and my not-very-reliable friend, Google Translate. If there are any mind-boggling mistakes, please post a comment and I will fix anything that looks too stupid to show the world! D:_

_This was kinda a shorter chapter (ok, not really) but I'm working on Chapter 3 which will be much longer, I think. Give me about a week; I really want to make this next one good!_

_Right-o, please post comments because they keep the dark thought at bay~_

_-Sushi_


	3. Case 1 – Part 2

_Hey guys,_

_So, I said a week and it's been ten days. Sorry. I won't bore you with details of my life, but let's just say it was a really busy time and this chapter was an absolute B***H to write! Agh! I hit writer's block at least twenty times and cut over a thousand words, edited, cut more, edited more...you get the jist._

_Anyhoo~ _

_Here's Chapter 3. It's pretty boring without any cool action-y scenes or anything. It's mostly more character development and such._

_You'll probably be able to tell I rushed the middle and end a bit, so please don't be too harsh~ (I promise the next chapter will be better)_

_Oh, I totally forgot: **I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS BELOW!** Phew, now that's off my chest~_

_Well, enjoy~_

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Case #1 – An Open Palm, a Brandished Sword, and a Plate of Kimchi: Part 2**

"Dude, Yao, where've you been?" Alfred stood from the small seat in the waiting area, cramming the last of some fries in his mouth and taking an enormous sip of soda. "The plane's about to board in five minutes!"

Yao mumbled a hasty apology as he swung the black messenger bag off his shoulder and began handing out passports and tickets. His lunch had been an uneasy ordeal balancing Feliciano's energy, Ludwig's lack of expression, and Kiku's coldness. He was starting to get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, going to Korea was a bad idea.

As he shoved his own boarding pass into his back pocket Alfred noticed the newcomers. "Hey Yao, care to tell us who your friends here are?"

"Ah yes, these are-"

But he was interrupted when Feliciano suddenly opened his eyes and gasped. "Francis?"

The Frenchman looked up from his copy of _Vogue_ in surprise as he heard his name being called. "_Alors_, who was that?" He uncrossed his legs and stood, his sparkling blue eyes finding the young brunette's face. "_Non_, my eyes must be playing a trick on me. Surely it cannot be Feliciano?"

"Big brother Francis!"

"_C'est mon chère ami_!" Francis exclaimed fondly as the Italian rocketed into his arms. "It has been so long since we last spoken, _non_? My, you have grown up so very quickly, I barely recognized you!"

"_Si_! It seems like our academy days were years and years ago! Oh wait, they were years and years ago!"

"Ohonhon, and how is that annoying older brother of yours? He isn't giving you any trouble, is he?"

Feliciano shook his head, the unusual curl bouncing from his reddish locks. "Once I started working in Germany I haven't been able to visit Lovino that much. I think he's still staying with _Mama_ and _Papa_ until he finishes his schooling. From what I've heard, he's really antisocial and doesn't have very many friends and makes more enemies that is healthy for him~"

"_Mon __Dieu__…_well, I cannot say I'm not surprised." Francis released his old friend and nodded dramatically. "_Oui_, it seems your _frère_ has as many issues as he did when he was younger. But enough about us, you must meet everyone else!"

Francis guided the burnet and his two companions, along with Yao, to the rest of the group. "I see you've already met Yao. He is our secretary, travel planner, and does most of the organizing. I myself am in charge of approving the authenticity of the cases.

"This is Alfred F. Jones, our American boss who refuses to tell anyone what his middle name is."

"'Sup!" Alfred gestured with his hamburger (when did he get another one?)

"Arthur Kirkland. He is in charge of the money, for the most part. You could say he's the treasurer, or the annoying Britain who refuses to treat anyone politely, _non_?"

Arthur glared at Francis, but found a way to compose himself and greet Feliciano, Ludwig, and Kiku. "Pleased to be of your acquaintance."

Ludwig grunted in response and firmly gave him a handshake. "You seem polite enough to me," he said, which earned him a smile.

"And Ivan Braginski, who is here just to be intimidating."

"Привет," smiled the Russian, a dark aura hanging over him. Feliciano took a good ten paces back and hid behind Ludwig.

Francis smirked. He had a feeling that Ivan would cause such a reaction. "Please don't frighten him away yet, he happens to be a very dear friend," he teased before turning to stand next to the trio. "Everyone, _je vous présente_ Feliciano Vargas, one of my closest younger friends from primary school. I was his upperclassman and tutor. His parents and mine were very dear friends. I am sorry to say, I do not know the other two, though our German friend here is ringing some bells in my head."

"If you don't have a bloody clue who they are, why the hell are you going about introducing them to us?" Arthur shouted.

Francis just laughed a bit and smiled. "_Désole_, I didn't think it would upset you that much. I found you more of the one who would laugh as my silly little mistakes."

"If anything, you should know I would never lower myself to that level!"

"Ohonhon, but you used to."

"That was years ago! Don't go about digging up the past!"

Yao found it pleasantly surprising to have Francis help him introduce the hyperactive Italian to the rest of the team, though he arguing with Arthur again wasn't all too desirable. Just one meal with Feliciano gave him a pounding migraine. He was surprised that Kiku had ever considered working around such a strange pair of people, never mind becoming their friend!

_They must be one hell of a team to be able to work around one another, _thought Yao._ If it were me, I'd probably already given up and moved on in life._

As if sensing his negative thoughts, Kiku immediately turned to watch Yao. Their eyes met; his dark brown eyes with the others' amber. After a very long and calculating stare, the Japanese man turned away and continued to converse with the people he'd just met. Yao felt an uneasy prickle run up his spine. Somehow, it seemed that Kiku knew exactly what he had been thinking.

Alfred, oblivious to the tension growing between the two Asian men, started boisterously talking to Kiku. "So, you're Japanese?"

"_Hai_, I am."

"Dude, why's everything in your country so damn small. I swear I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the portion control you guys have on your hamburgers and fries!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You could've had a heart attack at any damn moment considering your eating habits are far from healthy. Honestly, I can imagine the fat diabetic man you'll probably end up being in ten years."

"Dude, that was just low!" cried Alfred, his expression frozen in shock. "Stupid Brit!"

"Why you arrogant little-"

Thankfully, the two were cut off by the final boarding call. Fuming, Arthur stomped off, followed by Alfred and Francis. Yao sighed. This was going to be the longest ninety minute flight of his life.

**ヘタリア**

It was sunny in Korea, not to mention hot and humid. The air outside of the airport shimmered from the withering heat. According to both Yao and Kiku, Yong Soo would be meeting them at the airport. After sitting by the exit for half an hour, there was no sign of their Korean friend.

Alfred, naturally, was the first to being complaining. "God damn, why is it so hot in Asia? And humid?"

"That is quite easy to explain," Kiku said hurriedly. Somehow, he and Alfred seemed to hit off well. "We are near enough to the equator that there is plentiful sunlight and heat. With the Pacific Ocean and Sea of Japan so close, moisture comes from there to land, causing summer to be quite uncomfortable."

"And you live in this kinda heat? Jesus, I'm sweating up a storm without trying!"

"Well don't!" shouted a new voice from behind the group. "The last thing my country needs is a worse-than-average rainy season because some Americans decide to, I quote, 'sweat up a storm,' okay?"

Yao just rolled his eyes and turned to confront the newcomer. "You're late."

"I had other obligations," came the response. "But that's beside the point. Welcome to Korea! And long time no see, Yao, Kiku."

"Hello Yong Soo," Kiku replied.

The young Korean grinned, surveying the large group. One glance at them and he wouldn't have guessed them all to have the same occupation, let along be associates. Alfred was casual, donning a white t-shirt and cutoff jeans, both which were plastered to his body. Arthur donned his usual array of a white dress shirt, plain tie, and black dress pants, while Ivan wore (oddly enough) a long grey scarf and full winter jacket with boots. Both Feliciano and Francis were wearing very high-end fashion: handmade leather shoes, brand name shirts (Feliciano's: pinstriped and green, Francis's: blue), and beige pants. Ludwig had on a navy blue suit, Kiku a black. Yao tugged at his red t-shirt, which had an anime panda design on the front, and black skinny jeans.

Yong Soo, however, didn't care. He wore a black-and-white striped t-shirt, blue jeans, and a big smile on his face. "Glad to see everyone made it here! I hope your flights weren't too brutal. Well, there are two limos over there, so hop in!"

With that, he grabbed Yao's left hand and Kiku's right and led them to the first of two black cars parked nearby. He called over his shoulder, "You guys can leave your bags. A chauffer will pick them up for you!"

"Seems like your family went through a lot of trouble to accommodate us," Kiku said.

"Not really," replied the Korean. "My mom's family owns a pharmaceutical chain, so there's plenty of money in the bank. Plus, my dad's a full-time doctor and everything. I say we're well off. And the house is big so there're guest bedrooms for everyone!"

As the three Asian men walked away, Alfred asked, "D'ya think we should all ride in the second car, or some of us join them?"

"I say we should let them be." Everyone turned to Ludwig as he spoke. "They are obviously friends who haven't gotten the chance to talk to each other for some time. Letting them catch up a bit might prove better for a business relation between us and the Im family. Besides, a limousine is large enough to fit all of us comfortably, and if we are to work with each other for this case, it might be better if we got to know one another."

"That sounds like a good plan, _da_?" Ivan began to walk towards the second vehicle without a moment's hesitation. The others began to follow him, one by one. Feliciano was last, pausing only to grab a very heavy looking bag. It was made of brown leather, and at least a meter long.

"What's in there?" asked Francis.

The Italian hugged it proudly to his chest, smiling. "My art supplies. I'll draw something for you, if you'd like."

"_Oui_, but only if you have time!"

"They seem to be getting along," Yao commented as the last of them clambered into the second limo.

"I'm glad. But more importantly, I want to introduce you two to my parents!" Without warning, Yong Soo forced his friends through the door.

The interior of the limousine was grand. Plush beige seats made of leather lined one side of the car and half of the other. The center had a table and a container full of chilled drinks, mostly tea and Korean sodas. The windows, Yao noted, were tinted to ensure privacy. The limo was dimly lit with off-yellow lights, both from the floor and the ceiling. It was posh as well as comfortable.

Sitting directly in front of the door was a woman. She looked to be in her late forties with long black hair pulled back in a tight bun and kindly brown eyes. She shared Yong Soo's round face and bright smile, as well as his pale skin and obvious charisma. She wore a cream colored women's suit with chestnut shoes, shirt, and earrings. The woman looked up and smiled, saying, "안녕하세요."

"Yao, Kiku, I'd like you to meet my mom. 엄마, these are my friends."

"Nice to meet you," Yao greeted in Korean.

The woman seemed shocked. "Yong Soo never mentioned you speak _Hangul_."

"We both do," cut in Kiku, also in Korean. "Your son was the one who taught us most of what we know."

"Well, he never told me that. He always said you two were gifted with languages and picked it up after you three became friends. What a modest boy!" She smiled at him proudly as if he were her own son. "Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Im Eun Hee."

"Wang Yao."

"Honda Kiku."

"I know. Like I said, Yong Soo has told me a lot about the both of you." She watched them carefully. "Including your secret."

Yao, who had just taken a sip of tea, choked. Kiku looked up in shock. Mrs. Im smiled. "Please, take a seat, both of you. Let me explain while we drive." As the two cautiously sat, Eun Hee continued, "As you may or may not know Yong Soo has blood relation to me. I, unable to bear children, have adopted him. Due to his unusual circumstances, he felt it a responsibility to tell me about himself and you two. As such, I have no need to tell anyone about anything related to how you three met or became friends. You will be perfectly happy to know that your secret will die with my husband and me.

"Don't look at me like that!" she chuckled as Kiku and Yao stared at her in shock. "I take it you haven't told anyone else, and I plan to stay by your secrecy. The same goes with my husband."

"Thank you," Kiku said hesitantly after a few moments of hesitation.

She smiled again. "The pleasure is mine. Help yourself to some beverages. We also have cucumber sandwiches, if you'd like. I'm sure you've had a tiring travel."

Mrs. Im then pulled out some important-looking documents and went to work. Yong Soo grinned. "Isn't my mom cool? So tell me, how have you guys been?"

**ヘタリア**

"So, would someone care to explain what all this fancy gizmo is about?"

Arthur looked up as Yong Soo asked the question. They were in the Korean's home now, a very spacious and modernized _hanok_. It was nestled just outside of Seoul in a small forest near the mountains. At that moment, the American Bureau had taken the liberty of setting up their equipment around the house, which was proving to be a tough ordeal. They'd started around three in the afternoon and it was already beginning to get dark as they were finishing up.

Alfred, his heroistic ego kicking in, began boisterously. "Well, we have these cameras and heat sensors to tell us where the ghost is! Then we find him, corner him, and beat the shit out of him until he goes to where he rightfully belongs, 'cause we're all heroes like that!"

"Could your description skills be any worse?" butted in Arthur. "Honestly, haven't you learnt anything about the equipment you use?"

"Well, that's basically what it does!" the American whined.

Hardly amused, Arthur turned to Yong Soo. "I apologize for his ignorance, but he absolutely refuses to give it up." Ignoring the younger blonde's death glare, he continued, "We in the American Bureau of Paranormal Investigations use three basic items when tracking the behavioral patterns of a ghost: video cameras, heat censoring cameras, and temperature readers. Each does as it is designed to – the cameras we set up keep track of all people and places within the house, the heat sensors give us a heat reading of each item, and the thermometers constantly read the temperature of each room.

"All of these devices, after being set up and tested for accuracy, are then wired to these computer monitors, as well as all wireless laptops, cell phones, and tablets anyone in the agency has brought with them."

Yong Soo frowned. "I don't get it. What's so important about the heat sensing technology?"

"It's quite simple, really. Due to the fact that all ghosts and wandering spirits are no longer living, they produce no natural body heat. They are also many cases where, unlike the one we have currently, the spirit takes no visible form, so we rely heavily on heat sensors to tell the shape and location of a ghost. As such, whenever a ghost enters a room, the temperature in the room will drop. The same happens to any object the ghost comes in contact with. Its temperature reading will be lower that before."

"I didn't know that," cut in Alfred. Confused, he asked, "How come?"

"The nonliving take energy from surrounding objects whenever they want to perform any action, especially when moving objects or showing their physical form. This is predominantly why many ghosts can be found near warmer climates consisting of abundant nature or people. Only the most powerful of spirits can be found in abandoned buildings such as they are often depicted in movies." Arthur stopped talking, his scowl returning in place of his voice. "Didn't anyone teach you this, American?"

Alfred cheerfully shook his head. "Nope!"

"I figured," muttered Arthur. He cleared his throat and concluded, "Thus, the reason we have this technology is to see where the ghost is, who it will be targeting, and what possible damage it could try to do. I must warn you and your family, Yong Soo, the ghost may go on the offensive soon now that there are so many people staying here. We are giving off more than enough energy to let it stay in its physical form. It may be safer if the three of you leave until we finish this case."

"No way!" He grinned. "Unfortunately, I'm on summer break right now, and I kinda want to stay home and enjoy myself. Plus, my friends are over and I want to hang out with them. It's not like I'm afraid of ghosts or anything either."

"You're as bad as **he** is," muttered Arthur while pointing directly at Alfred with his thumb.

"Aw, c'mon Artie, it's not like I'm a creeper or anything."

"Who the bloody hell are you calling Artie! My name is Arthur, git!" Ignoring the whining that followed, the Britain turned back to the monitors. "Looks like Francis set up the last of the cameras."

As if on cue, Francis looked up at the video camera and waved cheerfully. Arthur rolled his eyes and looked away. Now twelve monitors were set up showing live footage from forty-eight cameras. Each room also had a thermal reader, and one click of a button changed the cameras from normal to heat reading.

"Well, at least that's done."

From what he could see, everyone was in the house and there was no trace of any strange occurrences. Yao was checking the thermometers with Ivan leaning over his shoulder, Francis was brushing his hair, Kiku and Ludwig were checking through what looked like a series of weapons while Feliciano ran from room to room excitedly. Mrs. Im was in the kitchen cooking dinner.

The front door opened and a man wearing a plain suit entered. He paused to take of his shoes before walking to the kitchen and giving Mrs. Im a warm embrace. She smiled, the two of them talking for a few minutes.

"Hey, my dad's back!" Yong Soo noted. "That mean's mom'll start serving dinner soon!"

As if on cue, the three watched as Eun Hee walked into the hallway and shouted, "Yong Soo! Your father's home! Should we start setting up for dinner?"

"Coming Mom, that sounds great!" he shouted before turning to grin at the bickering duo. "C'mon, my mom makes a mean _Haemul_ _Pajeon_!"

"What the hell does that mean?" Alfred whined. "I don't speak your language."

"Seafood pancake!" came the reply.

**ヘタリア**

Mr. Im Il Sung was a quiet man. He was tall, with a small smile and plain features. He had short black hair, heavy-set eyes, and a very serious stance. He shook each man's hand in a strong manner before seating himself for dinner. The others soon sat around the dining area as well.

Instead of sitting and eating like the rest of the members, Feliciano dug in the heavy-looking bag he had been carrying around. After a few moments, he smiled, having found what he was looking for. It was a simple sketchpad, weather-beaten and very large, and a box of colored stencils. Setting both items down on the hardwood floor, the Italian sat and began drawing with a grey charcoal pencil.

"Mr. Vargas, would you care to dine at the table with us?" asked Yong Soo's mother almost immediately as she began setting utensils on the table.

"It's okay, Mrs. Im," cut in Ludwig almost immediately. "He tends to sit on his own and draw while the rest of us eat. He'll come around when he's hungry, right Feliciano?"

Feliciano looked up at the people when he heard his name called, but only for a few seconds before smiling sunnily. "Ve~ I'm okay~ I'll eat after I finish this drawing!"

"Feliciano-_kun_, it is rude to ignore a meal when other people are offering it. We are guests here after all and you should show some more respect," Kiku scolded.

Mr. Im laughed a little. "It's okay," he said, waving a hand. "He can eat later if that's what he wishes. Okay, Mr. Vargas?"

Feliciano smiled again before returning his undivided attention to the paper in front of him.

Alfred shifted his body slightly so he was at an angle where he could comfortably whisper to Francis. The Frenchman leaned in to hear what his friend had to say. "So why do you think those two hired that Italian? He's way ditzy or autistic or something."

"_Je ne sais pas, mon ami_," replied Francis with a shrug. "He was like that last I saw him, but that was a good twelve-or-so years ago. It could be that he has some useful ability. That is the main reason we have Ivan and Arthur as coworkers after all."

"I guess." Alfred sounded far from reassured.

"And Alfred? Try not to bash Feliciano too much. He may seem a bit slow at times, but he is still my dear friend."

"Yeah, yeah, sure dude!"

Ludwig turned to watch the two men. He hated to judge right away, but he really didn't like the look of them. The way they were obviously making some negative assumption of his Italian coworker angered him a bit. Ludwig just shook his head and turned away. Even he had to admit Feliciano was a bit of a dolt sometimes, but that didn't put him any lower than any other man.

He was distracted as Mrs. Im brought out a tray of food, followed by Yong Soo carrying an equally laden tray. The later quickly served each person an empty plate, a bowl of plain white rice, and a plate with three different types of kimchi on it. Meanwhile, the older woman set three large seafood pancakes about twenty centimeters in diameter with dipping sauce and two plates of cooked beef.

"It's not much," she said, "but please, help yourselves!"

Alfred was the first to serve himself, taking a large slice of _Haemul Pajeon _and chewing it slowly. His eyes opened wide in start. "Dude! This stuff is amazing, and I don't even like squid!"

"_Oui_," chimed a very impressed Frenchman as he took his first bite. "_C'est magnifique_!"

Ivan chewed happily, no comments made but his satisfaction evident. The same went for Ludwig and Kiku.

"This is really good, Mrs. Im," Yao said.

She laughed a little. "Not at all! Please, you flatter me too much."

The rest of dinner passed in happy chatter. By the end, even Ludwig was smiling, a rarity. Feliciano had finished whatever it was he was working on and joined the rest to eat. It no longer seemed like a bad thing that the eight would have to work together.

Kiku kept close eyes on Yong Soo. Something in the back of his mind bothered him, telling him something was wrong. Though the Korean was the same as ever, all smiles and jokes, there was something different about him. Something very subtle. Kiku shook his head and sighed. Maybe it was just fatigue.

As if sensing they were getting tired, Mr. Im interrupted, "Would it be a good time to show everyone where they can wash up before bed? They have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

"Of course!" Yong Soo led everyone to the two bathrooms as his mother began to clear the table. "You guys can take turns, or bathe together if you really don't care. It's pretty spacious. I think you can find your things, they should be in your rooms now.

"Oh, and Yao, Kiku, there's something I wanna show you guys!" Yong Soo shouted. "Meet me in the woods in twenty minutes, and bring towels!"

**ヘタリア**

"Ah, _kimochi-aru_," Yao sighed as he lowered himself into the steamy water. It had been years since his last soak in a hot spring and the feeling of the heat creeping into his stiff joints made him shiver appreciatively.

Yong Soo grinned from ear to ear. "I'm glad you like it! It took forever to convince my parents to buy this place. They didn't want it for the outside bath, if you can believe it!"

"Really?" inquired Kiku as he hesitantly took a seat in the pungent water. "Why not?"

The Korean hesitated, and then shrugged. "Just didn't want it, I guess. The main house if quite a ways away from the city, after all. Plus, it's not traditional to have these things."

Though his reply didn't really answer the question, Kiku accepted it and sunk lower into the water. Yao was right, it was very relaxing; the temperature and smell of the _onsen_ reminded him of home. "I feel as though I haven't returned to Asia for a long time."

"Me too," chimed Yao as Yong Soo took a seat between him and Kiku. "I've been in America for too long."

"And I in Germany."

"Gosh, you two are talking like old men," Yong Soo complained. "Reminiscing over the past will do absolutely nothing. If you guys really want to go there, I'll go grab some alcohol."

Yao glared, his big brother mode kicking in. "Though your mind may be that of someone years above you, you are in the body of a sixteen-year-old boy. Under the laws of most major countries, including your own, you are too young to be drinking!"

Yong Soo just shrugged. "My mom lets me drink with my dad from time to time, it's no biggie."

"I'm not even going to go there…" Yao muttered, lowering himself until only his eyes peeked out of the steamy bath water.

"Yong Soo." He looked up as Kiku addressed him. "Something seems different about you, but I cannot place my finger upon what it may be."

"Hm?" The Korean froze, thinking. He seemed intensely serious for several moment, until his face broke into a wide and devious grin. "Oh, I know. I bet it's just because I've begun to mature into a fine young adult."

"Definitely not," they said in unison. This caused the Korean to look at them in horror.

"What? Are you sure?"

Both Yao and Kiku chose not to answer. Yong Soo pouted. "Gee, thanks a lot."

"You are very welcome," returned Kiku coolly, earning him a smile from the Chinese man which he pointedly ignored.

After several long moments of silence, Yao spoke. "I'm still shocked you told your parents about our secret. How in the world did they react to that?"

"Well, they were shocked at first, naturally. But then they seemed to take it really well. Now we don't even think about it that much." He smiled a bit. "I'm really like any normal kid, in that sense. I can live a life with a loving family and awesome friends."

Yao nodded; at least things went smoothly.

The three continued talking for another half an hour, until Yao finally excused himself to leave. "I have second shift tonight, and I want to get some sleep before that," he explained quickly.

"Geez," Yong Soo groaned. "You guys have to stay up all night? That hardly sounds like fun!"

"It is not," agreed Kiku, "but I would never give up my job. Exorcism cannot be taken lightly."

Yao nodded. "It's true. And I think it's well worth it, even with the risks."

* * *

_Hooray, I finished it! And you are still here reading my Author's Note!_

_Well, how was it? (I personally think it was 'meh') Please review, 'cause they make me happy! (and they keep the dark thoughts away, kolkolkol~)_

_I finally introduced Yong Soo, which was hard. I hope he's not too out of character or anything...and ohonhon, the Asians have a secret~ Dont' worry, I'll reveal it in due time, probably in the third or fourth case? Yep, I want to keep you guessing!_

_I apologize for any inaccuracies about Korea; I'm half-Japanese, so mainland Asian culture is not my forte. You probably noticed I don't translate anything in my works...I should probably start doing that._

_I would also put more Korean in there, but I don't want to rely too heavily on Google Translate, so I'll leave it at that. I should probably start translating what's written in foreign...yeah...I guess I'm really lazy about that..._

_Let me know if I should start translating; I can put them before the Author's Notes at the end of each chapter~ ^^_

_Okay, next chapter plans: 1.) ghost, 2.) violence. Not kidding, this is when it really starts! Please bear with me, I know I'm pretty slow at updating these things, so another week to ten days-ish?_

_K, hasta la pasta~_

_-Sushi_


	4. Case 1 – Part 3

_Hey everyone!_

_So, I was making борщ the other day and I accidentally cut two of my fingers while grating beets. As such, it hurt to type extensively; this is my reason (*cough cough* lame excuse) for having a late update. That and the soccer season kicked off so I've been really busy exercising. _

_Aside from that, I got to go to a Russian Festival, then an awesome Korean restaurant, so that totally inspired me to continue writing a lightning speeds (aside from the fingers, or course). Plus, I got to eat at the Pita Pit downtown 'cause my dad gave me $20. Yay! If you have a Pita Pit near you, I recommend their Chicken Souvlaki. Seriously dudes, you've gotta try it if you have a chance to!_

_Like I promised, there will be ghost-hunting epicness in this chapter, so please please please read~ (oh, and review when your done, 'kay?) _

_Oh, I just realized this was the first chapter I wrote where Alfred doesn't say the first thing. Seriously!_

_Finally (and I feel really evil to say this) but I may be unable to update for a couple of weeks. I was hoping to post a longer chapter to 'distract' you guys for a bit. I just got some major jaw surgery done the day before yesterday and the pain meds are not sitting too well. I noticed this impedes my writing skills tenfold! So please forgive me if this is the last chapter you see for a little while; recovery first, FanFiction second, soccer third, food fourth, and back-to-school shopping last!_

_Righto, on with the show! Sorry for such a long Author's Note~_

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Case #1 – An Open Palm, a Brandished Sword, and a Plate of Kimchi: Part 3**

The alarm set on Yao's phone began buzzing loudly, waking him from his peaceful slumber. Irritated, he threw it against the wall where it instantly died. Groaning, he burrowed deeper into the blankets before finally sitting up. It was one thirty in the morning, later than he wanted it to be, but it was time for his shift to start.

He pulled on a plain violet t-shirt and black sweatpants before creeping out of the room quietly, doing his best not to wake Ivan. Based on how the rooming went, he and Ivan were in the same room, as well as Arthur with Alfred. Francis had a room for himself, which was no surprise considering how no one was up for his rants of beauty products and color coordination. Yao had endured that a few times when they all went to his home to watch horror movies.

By the exit was an ear mic, which Yao quickly inserted into his right ear and turned on.

"Can you hear me?" a voice immediately asked as Yao clipped the battery to the waistband of his pants.

"Crystal clear," he responded. "Anything tonight, Arthur?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. It seems our friend doesn't want to make any false assumptions yet." A sigh crackled through the headset. "Still, I guess that gives us some time to adjust to jetlag."

"Are you tired?"

"Not in the slightest."

Yao closed the sliding door behind him and began walking down the hall. He could see the slight blink of video cameras as he walked by. "Glad to know you're alert enough to tell me if anything happens on my way down."

There was silence, but he could almost feel the Britain's smile. Reaching the door near the entrance, Yao made a sharp right into the room. Once there, he felt himself relax, not realizing he had been tense. Arthur looked up from the monitors and waved. Yao took the empty seat next to him. The twelve monitors cast an eerie glare over the two of them, showing nothing but colored blobs.

Arthur gestured with a hand. "As you can probably see, no temperatures have changed. I've gotten nothing but sleeping people and vacant hallways to watch. I can't say it's been exciting, but I find it better than starting on the first day."

Yao nodded silently in agreement. He observed the screen intently. Arthur was right; nothing was out of place. It was then that he noticed someone living was approaching them. "Who's that?"

"Kiku. He said there was something he wanted to explain to us. It had to do with a separate technology Ludwig and Feliciano installed after dinner."

Though it wasn't apparent in the dimly-lit room, Arthur was excited. He had also gotten to know Kiku on the flight and he was visibly interested in what other methods of ghost-hunting were used globally. Granted, he wasn't all to keen on joining the agency at first, but that was beginning to change now that they were actually working.

The door slid open and shut quietly. "Arthur-_san_, Yao-_san_."

"Kiku, so kind of you to join us." Arthur stood, offering him his chair. "Please sit."

"Thank you." Kiku quickly took the seat and turned to the screens. He was dressed casually, donning a normal orange pullover and blue jeans with black socks. The only abnormal article of clothing he carried was a katana strapped to his back. Despite his youthful appearance, he spoke in a prim and adult-like manner. "As promised, I came to show you the new technology our agency has begun to use. We have never considered heat-sensors – that was a very interesting idea, if I may say so myself. However, we have a slightly different approach."

The Japanese man reached over to the switches. There were two side-by-side: a black and a red, activating the normal cameras and thermal ones respectively. Then there was a blue one separate from the others. Kiku turned that one on while saying, "One of our providers from Switzerland found a way to read where a wandering spirit has been in the last six days."

"Six days!" Yao exclaimed, shocked. "How is that even possible?"

"By this."

Arthur and Yao leaned in as the screens flashed from reds and yellows to greys and blues. Everything, living and nonliving alike, was the same color of dull grey with only a faint white outline distinguishing one item from the other. There was, however, what appeared to be a pale blue line down the hallway in the east wing leading to the bathroom, as well as over the floor in that room. Kiku tapped the image with two fingers. "This was from the day Yong Soo took the picture he sent to us. These tracks are about five and a half days old."

"What it this?" Arthur asked after looking at the image for a few seconds. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Ectoplasmic fingerprints," replied Kiku. "Basically, whenever a ghost uses its ability to become visible or move objects, it leaves behind a trail of ectoplasm. Contrary to ordinary beliefs ectoplasm is almost like an invisible release of long-lasting excess energy. It fades after approximately six days, starting as a very bright white and fading to purple, then blue. The paler the color, the older the prints. Based on this, we can see the ghost hasn't been revealing itself anywhere in the area for the past few days."

Yao whistled under his breath. "Impressive. But how does any of this help your agency or your Swiss friend, aside from catching ghosts? I mean, I'm sure there's more then that?"

"You have assumed correctly. Our Swiss benefactor also is our personal banker and a self-employed weapons manufacturer. Most of our transactions go through him, and he takes his fair pay to make our weapons. As you are both aware, normal weapons have no effect on a ghost – rather, they would simply pass through it. However, if the weapons are made with an ectoplasmic lining surrounding them, they would hit the ghost with whatever essence they are made of.

"The main purpose of these cameras is not only to get an accurate reading of where the ghost is, but to also see where it has been. Using this information, Ludwig-_san_ and I are able to collect ectoplasm that, in exchange, is eventually used for exorcism purposes. This is not the freshest sample, but I plan to collect it now if possible."

Arthur nodded, impressed. "Are you going to head over there now?"

"_Hai_, that is my intension."

"Would you mind if I join you? I find this absolutely fascinating."

"Only if that is okay with Yao-_san_."

"Go ahead. Your shift is over anyways." Yao shrugged. "Besides, you said there wasn't any new movement. I'll mic you if something pops up. And Kiku? There should be a spare headset by the door."

"Thank you Yao. Goodnight."

"_Wan an_," he replied as the two disappeared from view. Yao rubbed his still-bleary eyes and focused his undivided attention to the LED monitors in front of him. He flipped it back to black, watching his fellow exorcists wandering down the narrow hallway flick back into normal view. It was almost funny, seeing them walk side-by-side; Arthur in his well-ironed white shirt and black trousers, Kiku in his slacks. Two men, so similar yet so different. It was interesting how they seemed to be forming a friendship so soon.

**ヘタリア**

Arthur kneeled next to Kiku, who was handing him a pair of blocky glasses with lenses tinted holographic green. "Put these on. They will allow you to see," he explained.

The young Kirkland took the glasses from him and put them on. He blinked a few times until his vision began to clear. The hallway appeared to be the same at first glance, yet Arthur allowed his mind to blank. It was almost like clearing away a glamor; the wood flooring slowly faded from brown to grey. Slowly, footprints began to become visible, a very light blue that glowed faintly.

"Is this where…?"

"_Hai_, it seems so." Kiku reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a thin bottle, no bigger than a pencil, with what looked like a miniature foghorn attached to the top of it. "We will use these to collect samples. There is an on and off switch on the side of the nozzle. Turn it on and it will collect the ectoplasm it comes within a few centimeters of. Turn it off when you are finished."

He handed one to Arthur, who gingerly took it. Kiku began collecting ectoplasm with a second one he had. It was slow work, bending down to collect one footprint at a time. The collecting process was also really slow; it took almost two minutes to get one done. Fifteen minutes went by until Kiku straightened, holding up the little bottle which was now about half full of a very thick liquid that had the consistency of cream stew.

"We are finished. You can take off your glasses, Arthur-_san_. I believe you will be able to see the substance now."

Arthur pushed his glasses up onto his head as he was instructed to. "So this is it? All those footprints into this little thing?"

"Yes," replied Kiku as the Britain began to tilt the phial back and forth in his hand. The glow emitted from the two tubes lit up the entire hallway in a soft blue light. "In this highly concentrated state, ectoplasm can be used. Unfortunately, it is highly poisonous though harmless in its original form. Any direct contact with human flesh will cause a red rash that then manifests and poisons your blood. It is only usable in this state, though."

"Wait a tick! Are you saying that every time you use a weapon there is a chance of getting poisoned?"

Kiku nodded. "Luckily enough, that is only if it touches your bare skin. I am fortunate enough to be immune to concentrated ectoplasm, but the others are not so lucky. Ludwig always wears gloves when handling our weaponry and Feliciano has altogether refused to use any. Still, it is a very efficient way to weaken a ghost enough. We make sure every spirit moves on instead of being wiped out of existence."

Handing the bottle to Kiku, Arthur opened his mouth to ask how they managed that when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, cold sweat tickling his brow. "Did you just feel that?"

Next to him, Kiku tensed. "That was unmistakably supernatural movement. This ghost, he is close."

As if on cue, the mic in Arthur's ear crackled painfully. He winced slightly. "Sorry about that," came the accented voice. "I'm sure you probably sensed that. He just headed out of the main building towards the woods. I think he's headed near the guest house."

"Wait, isn't that where Feliciano and Ludwig are staying? Will they be alright?"

"Do not concern yourself too much Arthur-_san_," Kiku said calmly. "The two of them may not make the best of impressions, but they will be fine. Ludwig has extensive military background in his family, and Feliciano has a gift none of us can deny. It is the reason why he can see without having his eyes open, after all."

Arthur and Yao sat in confused silence. Come to think of it, neither of them had seen the Italian open his eyes. Had they?

Kiku stood up straighter and put the phials into his hoodie pocket. "Still, I must make sure they are okay. There are no video cameras outside and I must make sure they are out of harm's way."

"Would you like one of us to accompany you?" Arthur asked.

"No, thank you. I will be fine." With that said, the Japanese man walked to the main entrance, slipped on his shoes, and left. He took a moment to breathe in the fresh night air before reaching to the sword strapped to his back. Unsheathing it, Kiku brandished it gingerly before running straight into the thicket of trees.

**ヘタリア**

Ludwig sat up, wide awake. Though he didn't have any special abilities as his other teammates, his sixth sense was the keenest of the three. The German reached under his pillow where he knew the pistol would be. He gripped the cool metal handle, the familiarity of the touch comforting.

A light hand touched his back. Ludwig turned. Unsurprisingly, Feliciano was asleep next to him and unconsciously reached for his protection. It still amazed Ludwig to no end how much the Italian could sleep, especially in a time of crisis. Unamused, the German shook the young man awake roughly. "Feliciano, wake up."

"Ve? But why?" The response was a half-hearted whisper.

"Because there is a ghost nearby," Ludwig said gruffly.

That immediately got Feliciano jumping out of the bed in shock. "_Oh_ _mio_ _Dio, un fantasma! __Non!_" he shrieked, running in circles with his hands thrown in the air. It would have been comical if it hadn't been for the situation.

"Feliciano, if you don't quiet down it will only find us more quickly."

The Italian shut up instantaneously, clamping his mouth with his hands. Ludwig nodded, satisfied, before beckoning his friend over. Feliciano sat down as the other man reached over to the bedside table and slipped on a pair of thick, black leather gloves. "Feli."

Feliciano looked up; Ludwig only called him that when he really needed his undivided attention. The blond gave his a reassuring smile. It was funny how much younger and innocent he looked with his bangs in his face and a smile on his face, despite the revolver in his hand. "Ve?"

"Whatever you do, don't give off your Shine. Keep your eyes shut."

"Yes Sir," he whispered. The German stood up and faced the door, body tense and eyes alert. The guest house was dark, spare the window on the far left wall that allowed a bit of moonlight to peek through the trees. Silence surrounded the two, uncomfortable and thick. Neither Ludwig nor Feliciano moved. Ten seconds went by, then twenty.

Suddenly, a twig snapped outside. Ludwig cursed under his breath before bolting out of the door. He ran a few paces out, turning left, then right. Silence had once again fallen. Ludwig stepped through the foliage barefoot, barely making a sound. It was deathly quiet. Too quiet. The lack of noise made the surrounding Asian pines appear eerie, reaching towards Ludwig. He didn't like it one bit.

There was a slight rustle. Ludwig pivoted, pistol raised. A very surprised and confused owl cocked its head before flapping off. Branches on a nearby tree swayed from the wind which he also reacted to. Ludwig cursed again, running a hand through his blond hair in frustration.

_Concentrate, _he thought, taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes. _Ignore the distractions. Concentrate on what you're chasing after. Focus on its energy._

Ludwig allowed his mind to go blank, letting his sixth sense reach into the darkness with careful fingers. He breathed again through his nose as his heart rate dropped steeply.

_Thump_. Breathe in. _Thump_. Breathe out. _Thump_.

The German's eyes fluttered open slightly. He could feel the rushing of blood though his ears as the darkness around him blossomed into a multitude of color. As if he could feel it Ludwig was aware of the ghost's presence. He could practically see its silhouette. Although it was weak, much weaker than he expected, it was undeniable.

He crouched down and crept through the woods. The bedding of pine needles provided a good cushion; he couldn't even hear his own bare feet padding along the ground. A whole agonizingly slow minute passed as Ludwig guided himself through the small expanse of trees. As he went deeper, the air around him jittered with energy. He could feel it. He was close.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a spark of white. Throwing logic and patience aside, Ludwig dashed towards the light. The ghost, noticing the German, glided calmly away through a small thicket of trees. Ludwig ran; he jumped over a low hedge and around the trees, pointing his gun straight, his finger cocked on the trigger."

He was confronted with a sharp, thin blade pointing to his jugular artery. The man wielding the weapon had an equally sharp glint in his eyes as his movement blew the hair away from his forehead.

"Kiku?"

"Ludwig-_san_," The Japanese man lowered his sword immediately. "What are you doing in such attire?"

The question itself was valid enough considering Ludwig was wearing nothing but a black tank top, pale blue boxers, and leather gloves. The German lowered his weapon and coughed embarrassedly. "I was chasing the ghost. He came around this corner."

"As was I," said Kiku, "except that it was coming this way when I saw it. That makes no sense. There cannot be two ghosts, can there?"

"_Nein_, there should only be one." Ludwig frowned. "When I was tracking it, the energy it gave off felt very weak. Strange…"

"That cannot be right." Kiku also frowned, his look turning into one of concern. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out the two pairs of special glasses. He put one pair on before handing another one to Ludwig. Ludwig too pulled them on and watched as the surroundings turned to the color of ash. The configurations took a few seconds, but it was apparent something was definitely wrong.

There was no ectoplasm.

Kiku ripped off the glasses. "Manifesting memories. They will be no use to us."

"I swore I felt a presence though, something that couldn't be caused by something as small an activity as this," muttered Ludwig as he reached to his face to take off the eyewear. Yet for the second time that night something caught his attention. "Kiku, what's that in the clearing over there.

The shorter man pushed his glasses back on and followed Ludwig's steady finger. There, undeniably, was something. The two men stepped forward cautiously until it was clear what they were seeing. One solid footprint.

"This could probably be the freshest sample we have found in a long time, Ludwig-_san_," breathed a very excited Kiku. "I will collect this at once!"

The taller man was about to nod in agreement, but he stopped, his blue eyes wide in fear. "_Verdammit_! We don't have time for that!"

"Why not?" asked the Japanese one, confused.

"Don't you see? That track was pointed straight to the guest house!" Ludwig shouted this as he ran off.

Kiku straightened, previous thought forgotten. "Feliciano-_kun_!"

**ヘタリア**

Feliciano sat on the bed with his arms hugging his knees which were pressed tightly against his chest. It had been almost ten minutes since Ludwig had suddenly sprinted out of the guest house and the lack of human presence was beginning to worry the frightened Italian. He kept his eyes squeezed shut as he was instructed to, but it didn't help to calm his apprehension.

The air outside was much cooler than earlier that day, though it was still muggy from the high humidity. Feliciano could feel his pink tank top sticking to his back where sweat was beginning to coagulate. The silence that surrounded the stuffy little rooms was unnerving, not to mention unnatural.

The creaking of a floorboard in the next room caught his attention. "Lu-Ludi?" he squeaked.

He knew instantaneously that he was wrong. Whenever the German entered a room, there was a sense of peace; this time, the room was cold. The previously sweating Feliciano watched as the windows frosted over and his breath began to make puffs in the frigid air. He whimpered in fear and sought refuge in the plush blankets he pulled out from under the bed. Feliciano shivered. This was not good.

He tried to remember back to the time Ludwig taught him basic self-protection. Unfortunately, everything had to do with physical contact. All Ludwig had said for a ghost was:

_Unless they force themselves on you, you can't touch them. The only thing I do is always keep two weapons nearby at all times. If I can, I'll only ever use one though._

Feliciano snapped slightly to attention. Two weapons? But Ludwig had only taken one out…

The Italian took a peek out of the protection of the sheet. Sure enough, there was a second pistol lying on the bedside table on his side. If his eyes hadn't been tightly shut Feliciano would have widened them in shock from the lucky break. He reached out to grab it-

-only to have something grab his hand in an icy, vise-like grip.

Feliciano screamed in shock which caused the hand to pull away. Desperately, he grabbed the revolver from the table and tucked it to his chest. He pointed the barrel straight out in front of him, even though the blanket was in his way. After a few moments of silence, Feliciano pulled the blanket off of his head and took a 360 of the room. Not a bit of the ghost was in sight. Feliciano sighed and relaxed slightly.

Suddenly, the ghost was in his face, large, luminescent eyes vacant and hands reaching for him. Not a sound escaped the Italian's lips. He couldn't move or breathe except quake in fear. All Feliciano could feel was the ghost's sorrow run though him; its desperation to move on was devastating. Against his will the living boy could sense his eyes begging to open. His eyelids trembled as he did his best not to open them, but it was no use.

Just a sliver, just a sliver wouldn't hurt, right…

It was then, when all of his willpower was about to expire, that there was an earsplitting bang from across the room. Both Feliciano and the ghost looked up as the door was slammed open with great force. Ludwig stood in the doorway, his gun pointed steadily at his target. "Move, and I'll shoot you." He said this without a hitch in his voice.

The ghost looked ready to respond when he froze, the tip of a cold metal sword to his throat from behind. Kiku had silently slid in through the open window. "당신은 누구 시죠?"

"임홍출." With that said, the ghost vanished without a trace.

The room temperature gradually rose. Kiku and Ludwig clearly relaxed, lowering their weapons. Feliciano got out of bed with the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, then dropped the gun to the floor with a clatter. He sobbed, body heaving. Ludwig rushed over to him and held him until his crying began to subside.

"Ludwig, I-I-I'm so sor-sorry. It, he, forced me! I tried to keep my eyes shut like you t-told me to, but...b-b-but…" The Italian tried to calm himself down, but it was no use. He pushed his face into the German's shoulder and wailed, blubbering in a mixture of English and Italian.

Ludwig patted the other's soft hair gently. "Shh, it's okay Feli. Don't worry. It's gone for now. Kiku and I are here so that ghost won't come back for you any time soon. Breathe, and rest. We'll be here."

"_Per favore_, don't leave. Don't go anywhere."

"I promise. I'll stay right here."

Kiku calmly overlooked the moment. "Ludwig-san, is it alright if I collect the ectoplasm from the room? That, and the forest."

"Go ahead," he responded with a nod. "We don't know when we'll have the opportunity to collect this quantity so fresh."

The Japanese man nodded, cast one more worried glance over Feliciano, before putting his glasses back on and kneeling down to gather the invisible energy. As soon as he was done with the room, he went out to the forest. Feliciano finally fell asleep, curled up in Ludwig's strong arms. The German carried him to the bed and stayed with him, just as he had promised. He too fell asleep. That was exactly the way Kiku found them when he returned.

Despite everything that had happened that night, he smiled.

**ヘタリア**

Breakfast was a bleak and silent ordeal that morning. Feliciano had refused to come down in fear and Ludwig volunteered to stay with him. The Im family's worry was evident, as was everyone else's too. Even Alfred wasn't making his half-assed jokes as he usually did. No one spoke a word, quietly finishing their rice, kimchi, and beef-rib stew. When everyone was finished, Mrs. Im cleared the table and retired to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

Francis was the first to break the awkward silence, addressing Kiku. "What you witnessed yesterday, are you sure it was an old memory fragment? It was not some trick of the spirit, was it?"

Kiku opened his mouth to reply when a gruff voice cut in, "Without a doubt."

Ludwig stepped into the room. His hair was jelled back, clothes light and crisp. Despite his smart attire, it was obvious from his slight slouch and dark circles framing his eyes that he was sleep deprived. Behind him trailed a very timid Feliciano who was still wearing his sleepwear aside from putting on beige shorts over his boxers. Just as the first time they met him, Feliciano was clutching his abnormally large sketchpad to his chest. He smiled a bit before taking a seat next to Ludwig.

Kiku leaned over to his coworker and whispered, "How did you manage to get him out?"

"He drew for a bit, and I promised him pasta tomorrow," the German whispered back before speaking normally again. "What Kiku and I saw was what appeared to be two separate manifestations of the same spirit in the wooded area behind the main house." Everyone else nodded in silence, except for Alfred.

"Question! Um, how does that work?"

"You really don't know anything, do you?" asked an exasperated Arthur. Francis, however, cut in.

"_Mon ami_, we saw some a few cases ago in Alaska, remember? The hunter who had died in the blizzard. That night, we saw some of his memories. Whenever a ghost has, or had, a close attachment to a place in their lifetime, their memories continue to haunt the area until they have found peace or are forcefully exorcised."

"Right! I knew that!" laughed Alfred. "And what about the actual ghost? Surely someone was able to catch a glimpse of him?"

"I did," whispered Feliciano.

Alfred looked up. "Dude, no offense, but your eyes are always closed. How the hell did you see a ghost if you didn't open your eyes? I take it you didn't open them, right?"

Feliciano shook his head before explaining. "I don't really understand why I can't open my eyes, but I can still see. It's almost like looking through a slight fog that's made up of colors and visible textures. For some reason, this ability developed after I started to stop looking normally. I can't really explain it, only that it's almost like my eyelids block off the unnecessary, but I can still see.

"For example," he said while pointing to breakfast. "I can still tell what is what. There is rice here that is white, some red vegetables I don't recognize, and soup that has some meat flavor. Yet when I look at Ludi, I see he has blond hair and blue eyes. But I can also see that he has a faint aura, almost like a pale blue. Because I know him personally, I know that it's his sixth sense. Or the fact that Kiku has a very controlled energy that Yao shares. Of that Arthur has a very powerful inner fire. I can See, but maybe not in the way that others can."

Alfred nodded, still clearly confused. "That's…cool. So you said you saw him. What'd he look like?"

"I drew a picture." Feliciano flipped through the heavy paper until he found what he was looking for. "Here. He was wearing some sort of robe, I'm not sure what it was. It was blue with paler pants."

Everyone crowded around his paper. There were several sketches covering the large sheet, mostly in charcoal though a few has some telltale color added to them. Though the drawing looked rushed, it was evident that only someone with skill could have drawn what was in front of them.

"That's a man's _hanbok_," said Yong Soo, pointing. "By the appearance, it was one made specially for a wedding. And it's an older cut and material, if this is accurate. They're hardly ever made like this anymore."

"Well, that gives us some clues, at least," Arthur said. "We know this ghost was a man who probably had some strong connection to this house, was born in the past, and was deceased some time before, during, or after his wedding. About how far back in the past would you say?"

"At least before the first World War, perhaps around the time Japan occupied Korea. Sometimes 'being Korean' was a sign of resistance." He said this while making quotation marks with his fingers. "It was a dark part of history…"

Yong Soo trailed off, a small and very sad smile on his face. Mr. Im watched his adopted son worriedly for a long moment. He looked at Feliciano. "You said you saw this ghost's face. Could we see the drawing of that?"

"_Si_, right here." The Italian flipped the page with nimble fingers. "It's funny, he looked a lot like Yong Soo."

The younger of the two Koreans looked up in shock. "What did you say?"

"I said the ghost looked a lot like you. Why, is there something wrong?" Worry crept into Feliciano's voice.

Yong Soo reached out to immediately and snatched the sketchpad. He took one glance at the picture and dropped the papers, hands shaking. His father reached out and gripped his hands tightly. "Yong Soo, son, what's wrong?"

"It's him!" He quaked in fear. "No, it can't be him!"

"Who?"

"오라버니!"

* * *

**Translations**:

_Hai_ – Yes (Japanese)  
_Wan an_ – Goodnight (Chinese)  
_Oh mio Dio, un fantasma! Non!_ – Oh my God, a ghost! No! (Italian)  
_Nein_ – No (German)  
_당신은 누구 시죠?_ – Who are you? (Korean)  
_임홍출 _– Im Hong Chul (Korean)  
_Per Favore_ – Please (Italian)  
_Mon ami_ – My friend (French)  
_오라버니_ – Brother (Korean)

_Boy oh boy, am I glad to have finished that one! Finally, true fighting action…well, not fighting per say, but some action none the less. There was supposed to be some huge action in the second half of this chapter, which I decided to cut out and put as a Part 4._

_That wasn't too bad now, was it? I know the whole ectoplasm and supernatural powers was a bit random, but I hope it worked! Leave reviews because they make me happy~_

_Big thank you to _**Girlaremo **_for the first two reviews and all; that really kept me going._

_Right, I'll do my best to get Part 4 up at a decent time, so please keep reading and post some reviews! _

_-Sushi_


	5. Case 1 – Part 4

_I'm ba~ack! The hiatus is over!_

_I'm so so so so sooooooooooo sorry; I know it's been, like, over a month since I typed up a chapter! Don't worry, this story's not going to end yet! _

_School's started again and healing is taking too long for my liking. Plus, I've been really sick. I won't bore you with the details, so here's the next chapter. It was supposed to be the second half of the last one, but I ran out of time before my surgery to write it. That, and I really wasn't up to writing it afterwards, what with the pain meds making me completely loony. Sorry!_

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Case #1 – An Open Palm, a Brandished Sword, and a Plate of Kimchi: Part 4**

Yong Soo continued to stare at the drawing, his expression changing from horror to shock. "Take it away from here," he growled, a completely different person than the flamboyant youth from just minutes before. "Take it and leave, all of you!"

No one moved for a long moment. The Korean eyed them carefully and snapped, "I want everyone out! Now!"

Feliciano squeaked out a frightened 've' and grabbed his sketchpad before fleeing the room. A very concerned Ludwig followed him immediately. Kiku was about to leave when Yong Soo wrapped a hand around his thin wrist. "No, not you. I want you and Yao to stay. And Father. There's something we need to discuss."

"Please meet us in the guest rooms," Kiku said after a moment's hesitation. "We will join you as soon as we can."

Everyone left one by one, all equally curious and unsure as to what to make of the situation. Ivan was the last to depart, giving Yao a long stare with his curious violet eyes. Mrs. Im reentered the room a split second later, noticed her adopted son curled up on the floor, and instantly knelt down next to him in concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He just shook his head sharply. "It's nothing you'll understand. I just need to think for a minute. Get me some tea and I'll be fine."

"Son, are you sure you're alri-" she began.

"Tea, woman. I demand it!"

As Mrs. Im scurried out, Kiku frowned. "You really should not treat adults like that."

"I'm getting to old to care," he snapped back.

"You're not that old yet."

"Oh, don't remind me." Yong Soo breathed slowly before smiling weakly. "Geez, is this supposed to happen? Emotional breaks, I mean? It's not like I have that much hormonal imbalance."

Yao shrugged. "Sometimes. You'll learn to control them, eventually."

"Thank goodness!"

"You should apologize to your mother," said Mr. Im gently. "She was the woman who insisted on taking you in, after all."

Yong Soo nodded in agreement. "I will," he said breezily. "She hardly deserved that, especially with everything she's done for me. Still, there remains the issue with _him_."

"Are you saying…" Kiku trailed off. Yong Soo nodded again.

"Oh, there was no denying that was Hong Chul you guys saw. I'm just confused as to why he's here of all places. If I recall correctly, he wasn't killed anywhere near this home. At least a few cities away from Seoul, if I say so myself. Naw, there's a reason why he's here, though I have no idea what it could be. Also, why is he so intent on going after Feliciano?" He sat there, brooding quietly, until the door reopened and his mother stepped in with five cups of iced tea.

They drank is silence. When Mrs. Im tried to ask a question, Yong Soo waved it off with an apology. "I'm sorry. I'll explain later," was all he said. He smiled, more naturally. "Kiku, Yao, you guys can leave now. Tell them everything's all right. I don't wanna worry them too much."

They both departed; Yao and Kiku walked side by side in silence, their footfalls barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. It wasn't long until they were standing in front of the door of the room everyone was waiting in. It was then that the Chinese man pulled his 'friend' aside.

"Follow me in after a few seconds," Yao commanded. "And whatever you do, absolutely not telling the truth. I have no idea how anyone there would react to it, and I think I speak for all three of us when I say I don't want to figure that out quite yet."

"Of course," agreed Kiku.

The Chinaman gave a satisfied nod. He took a deep breath and stepped in.

**ヘタリア**

Everyone else had been sitting in the large guest room in worried silence. Suddenly, the door slid open. A grim-faced Yao entered. He slumped down onto the nearest open patch of floor (which happened to be next to Ivan) and redid his ponytail. Kiku slid in a moment later. Feliciano turned as his friend took a seat next to him and asked, "Ve, is Yong Soo okay?"

Yao answered instead, flipping his freshly-tied hair over his shoulder. "He will be."

"What in the world frightened him so much, I wonder?" the German asked.

"It appears as though the picture of the ghost Feliciano-_kun_ drew had a strong likeliness to Yong Soo's older brother," Kiku replied. "He died in a motorcycle accident a few years ago."

"Could that actually be his bro?" Alfred asked.

Kiku shook his head. "Impossible. Their names were different, and no modern Korean would wear that style of _hanbok_."

"So we're back to square one," sighed Ivan. The others seemed to agree in a dejected manner. All except, that was, spare one blond who was adjusting his hair while gazing at his reflection in a pocket-sized mirror.

"Not quite so," Francis interjected without taking his eyes off of his reflection. "You mentioned seeing a memory last night. I would like to see this spot, if at all possible."

Arthur looked up, frowning. "What good is there in going there, frog?"

The Frenchman closed his mirror with a snap. He looked over the plastic cover wolfishly a smile splayed across his flawless features. "Just wait and see, _mon cher_," he purred, knowing it would piss the Britain off.

It did, just so.

**ヘタリア**

After the second scare of their stay, Alfred's team headed out to the woods. Due the fact that Kiku and Ludwig were unsure of the exact location of the night's event, Kiku having collected the fresh ectoplasm, Arthur was leading them with a simple tracking spell. The only odd thing about him was the fact that he was wearing a long black cloak that rustled in the stifling breeze.

"What's with the get-up?"

Arthur scowled. Of course Alfred was the first to comment about his outfit. He purposely picked up the pace to leave the American behind. "This is my cloak."

"I got that," Alfred commented while rolling his eyes and taking longer strides to match the quickening pace. "What I meant was why are you wearing it? It's boiling out here!"

Arthur whirled around and stopped completely. "For your information, I need to wear it to help my magic. I, much like the ghost haunting this house, require the use of life energy to perform spells. However, I specialize in black magic. As much as it needs life energy, having darkness around he takes away a lot of the stress required to use it. Thus, I am wearing my cloak to create more shadows around me to keep a more accurate tracker. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to concentrate."

He ignored Alfred's response and instead focused his attention to the small beam of light in his hand. It pointed straight ahead, a harsh black. At least they were on the right track. He huffed and continued walking on. Alfred hadn't been lying; it was ridiculously hot outside and he was sweating gallons in the outfit. Still, it was a small sacrifice for a greater goal.

Arthur stopped in the clearing as the light in his hand flickered and died altogether. "We're here."

Francis stepped forward, flipping his hair over his shoulder as he did so. He smiled a bit before standing in the thicket of trees. "_Mes_ _amis_, allow me to begin."

"Get 'em good, Frenchie!" Alfred shouted in encouragement.

Francis smiled. He positioned himself in the clearing and took a deep breath. The change upon him was almost instantaneous. The Frenchman's posture relaxed and his eyes glazed over slightly. He turned in a complete circle, completely unaware of everyone else's presence.

"What in the world is he doing?" asked Arthur.

Ivan, who just caught up with the group, looked down in surprise. "Oh, I forgot you haven't seen Francis's ability yet. Just wait until he blinks. Then we'll know a bit more about those memories."

"Are you saying he can see the past?"

"And sometimes the future, if we're in the right place at the right time. The future comes to him randomly in visions, while the past is something he has to concentrate on." Ivan gave the shorter man a creepy smile. "I also heard he use to be unable to control his powers when he was a child for a reason he refuses to tell anyone."

Arthur cast Francis a wary glance as he continued to watch something no one else could see.

**ヘタリア**

It took five minutes for Francis to blink. By then, Alfred was already lying on the ground in boredom, Arthur was slouched against a tree, and Yao was trying to ignore Ivan's small talk. The American was the first to notice, turning before sitting up and grinning. "Well, what'd ya see?"

"They spoke only in Korean, so I couldn't understand what they were saying, but it sounded very endearing. Nothing but young, true love." He smiled. "_Ah, l'amour! C'est tres beau_."

"Enough with the French crap, frog-face!" Arthur fumed. "What the blazes did you see?"

"There is no need to be so cold, _mon cher_. I was simply saying I saw a young couple who were obviously very much in love." Francis actually sounded hurt. Arthur offered a very minimal apology. The Frenchman huffed, but accepted it in a very disgruntled manner before continuing. "They spoke very softly, and in only Korean. I didn't understand a word of it, but it seemed as though this relationship was very secret and very quiet. They were out in this clearing and they still refused to speak in normal tones. The young maiden also kept looking around as though she were afraid someone was watching. And there was no denying that the man she was with was this mysterious spirit of ours. It almost appeared as though he was an unwanted visitor in the area, aside to the girl, of course."

Slow nods and note-scribbling followed as Francis sat down with his back against a tree. He closed his eyes for a moment until approaching footsteps caught his attention. "_Oui_?"

"I didn't know you were a Seer."

The Frenchman smiled without opening his eyes. "Why Arthur, after all these years you couldn't figure that out?"

"It's not like Seers give off a strong aura like other mages. It's too subtle for even someone such as myself to feel," huffed Arthur indignantly. "Still, I wonder, what is it like to see the past?"

Arthur didn't want to admit it, but he was quite impressed by Francis's ability. Most Seers were born with the power, and those without took years of training to empty their minds enough to catch glimmers of the past with less-than-vivid depictions. The Britain only knew one other Seer, and that was his own mother. Even he, with his adept verse in magic, had no ability to see any time period but the present.

Francis thought, well, thoughtfully for a long moment. He sighed. "It's quite difficult to explain. I would best compare it to watching an old film, where the pictures are an off-brown and white color. It's more like a moving photograph with sound. Sometimes I can feel the breeze or taste something in the air when I breathe from a memory. Other times, it's like watching behind a glass screen. _Sacre bleu_, it's hard to explain!"

"No, that's fine. Thank you kindly, Francis."

"That's the first time I've heard you say such kind things to me for years," Francis noted. His face, which had held a genuine smile after being complimented, twisted into a smirk. "Ohonhon, jealous of my special ability are we now, Arthur?"

"Sh-shut up!" the Brit huffed. "As if I would ever give up the chance to curse people just to spy on their former personal lives like the stalking pervert you are!"

"Hey! That was a low blow, little black magician."

"What the hell did you just say, you bloody pompous French arse! I am a mage, not some man with a top hat and tricks."

As the two began another cycle of shouting profanities at one another Ivan observed them silently, a dark aura hovering around his happy face. Yao involuntarily shuddered and subconsciously sidled away from the hulking Russian. Some things were best left at a distance, including Ivan and his mysterious powers.

**ヘタリア**

Feliciano and Ludwig were in the kitchen. It was a spacious room with both modern and traditional cooking stations and a hard tile floor. All the newer appliances were gleaming white and chrome. Even the older items outdoors seemed to shine slightly. The two men looked upon the kitchen in awe; it obviously took a lot of green to make a room so grand.

They had been given permission earlier by Mrs. Im to make some pasta. It seemed everyone was sympathetic of the Italian after the events of the other night. All Ludwig had to do was explain his promise to allow one pasta lunch and they were granted full access to anything in the kitchen. Then Feliciano insisted that Ludwig accompany him that afternoon.

Feliciano bounded around the kitchen eagerly, a smile on his face. The kitchen had always given him an at-home feeling, and he had no problem adjusting to the cookware and finding all of the ingredients he would need. Ludwig couldn't help but relax a little as the shorter man began humming and mixing away; it was nice to finally have the usual Feliciano back, though he could be annoying at times.

"Feliciano, I told you not to make a mess!" he scolded as the Italian scattered flour all over the countertop. Feliciano ignored him and continued to mix ingredients. Ludwig sighed and went in search of a towel. The least he could do was clean up after his friend.

The next hour passed in comfortable silence, Feliciano finishing the pasta as Ludwig scrubbed down the roomy kitchen. The German was finally able to relax when the pasta made it into the pot of boiling water. All of the dirty dishes were soaking in warm water the sink (because Ludwig put them there), there were no messes (because Ludwig had wiped down every surface used), and the smell of tomato sauce filled the room (because Ludwig had given in to Feliciano's begging and allowed him to make some). It was no surprise he was exhausted. On top of that, his throat was sore from barking orders to the Italian. Instead of sitting, Ludwig went to the sink to finish the dishes.

"Ve, Ludi, I can wash them!" Feliciano called from the stove. His hair stuck to the back of his neck from the humid conditions in the kitchen.

"_Nein_, I've got it," he replied, mopping his forehead with the cleanest corner of the rag. "You'll probably break half of them anyway. Just make sure you don't overcook your pasta."

"Okay!"

Ludwig dunked his hands into the water and began scrubbing furiously. He was tired, what with everything from the night before and that morning draining him. The blond decided he would take a cold shower after lunch and take a nap. Feliciano was probably planning on a siesta anyways. Ludwig closed his eyes for a second. Just thinking of the shower made him feel significantly cooler. He sighed, relishing the cold air.

_Wait, what?_

It was cold, too cold. The German immediately stiffened, alert, and swiveled around. His back, which was previously facing the stove, was against the sink, where the water was beginning to freeze over. He grabbed the edge of the sink with his right hand to steady himself. Feliciano too had felt the change in temperature. He watched Ludwig as he tried to locate the spirit. "L-Ludi?"

"Shh," he shushed urgently as he slipped his gloves out of his pocket and onto his hands. "Stay close, Feliciano. No, wait!"

The air temperature had suddenly pitched steeply. The ghost appeared directly in front of Ludwig, blocking his path to the other man. Feliciano froze, paralyzed in fear. Staring straight at the brunette, the ghost stepped towards his prey, leaving frozen footprints in his wake.

"Feliciano, get out of here!" Desperation creeping into his voice, Ludwig shouted. "Run!"

Feliciano snapped out of whatever fear-filled trance he was in and bolted for the door. Ludwig reached behind him, where a gun was tucked into his belt. The ghost turned lifeless eyes on him and pointed to the sink. He glanced at the sudsy liquid as it rose up as though it were alive. Ludwig lurched away from the counter, dropping the gun to the floor in the process, but it was too late. Water snaked around his right arm where it froze, trapping the German. Ludwig growled and lifted his right foot where a second holster was located. That too was frozen in place.

Thankfully, there was no more water. The ghost turned his attention back to Feliciano who was about to leave the room. He vanished and rematerialized in front of the exit, forcing the Italian back in. The shaking man took slow, unsteady steps backwards until his foot hit a stray pot lying on the floor and he fell on his backside hard. Ludwig lost sight of Feliciano over the countertop when he fell, but the sounds of cloth brushing against one another helped him determine that the Italian was moving towards his general direction.

Ludwig scrabbled with his fingernails at the sheet of ice that covered his right foot. He could see the handle of the gun just out of reach, gleaming slightly. Growling, the German beat a fist against the encased leg. The ice barely cracked. Ludwig's breath huffed out in a steam of white frustration and continued to punch the unyielding solid.

A clang resonated; Feliciano, who had been sliding backwards on the floor, hit his head on the stove behind him. He turned onto his hands and knees and crawled towards Ludwig. The ghost was on him in an instant. Ludwig cursed loudly and smashed the ice with one fist. Under the leather of his glove, he felt the skin around his knuckles split and warm blood trickle out of the wound. He hardly cared – all the blond noticed was the fact that his hand found its way around the familiar wood and metal handle of his gun. Ludwig tried to yank it out of the holster, but to no avail.

The ghost closed in on the panicking Italian, reaching out to grab him. Ludwig managed to rip the weapon from its case, but Feliciano was the first one to move. He looked up. His golden-brown eyes were wide open, tears filling them to the brim. He tried to say something to Ludwig, but his words were lost as the room was filled with an impossibly bright light. The German felt the ice encasing his body melt with a crack, and he crashed to the ground, pistol cradled to his chest. Instinct and inborn fighting ability dictated his next action. Ludwig rolled onto his knee and fired two shots straight at the ghost. One missed, but he heard the unmistakable sound of the bullet hitting flesh following the second. With a shriek of pain, the ghost dropped Feliciano and clutched his shoulder. He gave Ludwig a cold, cruel glare before vanishing.

The German let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding before standing. He reclaimed his fallen weapon. After checking to see it was intact, Ludwig walked over to where Feliciano was lying. The Italian sat up; he was deeply shaken, yet very much undamaged. The blond sighed in relief. Two encounters now, and this one was in broad daylight! They were lucky, to say the least.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Feliciano nodded. He looked up at Ludwig and offered a weak smile, eyes closed once again. "I'm so sorry, Ludi. I didn't mean to open my eyes. Now the ghost knows I have the Shine."

"_Nein_, it's okay. If it wasn't for that, we would probably be hurt much more."

After a few seconds of hesitation, Feliciano whispered, "Ve, I think our pasta's ruined."

Ludwig couldn't help but smile a bit at that. "Of all the things you care about, it's the pasta. _Mein Gott_ Feli, just how much could you care about that?"

"But the water's boiled over!" he complained slightly, a true smile returning to his tan features.

It was then, in the moment that Ludwig relaxed slightly, that something happened. Feliciano's happy face turned to fear as pointed behind to something behind the blond, a warning. Ludwig turned around to see the ghost standing half a meter away, wielding a blunt club and murderous eyes, his injured arm dangling uselessly to his side. The German ducked, but not quickly enough. The edge of the crude weapon hit his left temple with enough force to cause him to black out. As he fell and darkness claimed him, Ludwig saw the ghost pick up a screaming Feliciano and vanish.

**ヘタリア**

"Ludwig-_san_! Ludwig-_san_, are you okay?"

"Kiku," he groaned, aware of the throbbing pain in his head. He tried to sit up, only to be affronted by a wave of dizziness.

"Rest," Kiku said, gently pushing him back down. "It looks as though you might have a concussion. Tell me, where is Feliciano-_kun_?"

Groaning again, the taller man managed to sit up, leaning against a cabinet for support. "It took him. That ghost came here. I tried to stop him, but…all I managed to do was clip his shoulder." Ludwig opened his blue eyes, staring up at the Japanese man. "He's strong, Kiku, almost unbelievable. He was able to control objects, touch things – even the living."

Kiku nodded. "I know. Alfred-_san_ had the video camera's running. I was with Yao, and we saw a bit on his laptop. Alfred was on duty, and came to get us when he saw what was happening. I came as soon as I could, but it seems I was too late."

It was then that Ludwig noticed the sword in Kiku's hand. He nodded curtly and tried to stand. With the shorter man's help, he was able to rise to his feet, wobbling. Alfred was there in the kitchen, as well as Yao and Ivan. The Russian gave Ludwig his usual smile that didn't seem to reach his eyes and handed him a bag of ice. It was placed on the German's head gently, but he still winced at the contact.

Yao's fingers ghosted over the large bruise on Ludwig's temple. He nodded, convinced about something. "You took a hard blow. That Hong Chul's got some strength in him for being dead. I may not have healing magic like Arthur, but I can tell there's a concussion, but nothing too severe to need hospitalization. Rest plenty for a few days. I'll send you something that should ease the pain and reduce the swelling."

"Yao is very well versed in ancient Chinese medicine," Kiku explained quickly. The blond grunted in comprehension.

Alfred, noticing the other four conversing, dashed over. "Dude, ya okay?"

"_Ja_. At least, I will be."

"Well, that's good to hear." An awkward silence followed as Alfred twiddled his thumbs. He finally broke it. "Um…what the hell happened here? I mean, I saw the tapes and stuff, but I lost picture about when the ghost was going for Feliciano. Everything went bright and the next thing I know you two dudes were talking like nothing happened. And when that ghost showed up again, I went to get them." He jerked his thumb at Yao, Ivan, and Kiku.

Kiku and Ludwig exchanged a worried glance. The German broke eye contact, staring down to the floor and muttering, "He even apologized for opening his eyes. Feli didn't want to use his Shine."

"What is this 'Shine' you keep talking about?" Ivan asked. Yao and Alfred nodded in agreement.

"I think," said Kiku after a long moment of hesitation, "that it is time you knew of Feliciano-_kun_'s significance."

* * *

_Boy oh boy do I feel evil today! Feliciano missing, and on a cliffhanger-ish thing~ Yep, it's amazing what pain meds does to the mind (especially for someone as semi-sane as myself). Sorry I didn't translate anything – go look it up if you're so curious._

_Now that school's started and I have to attend soccer practices full-time, not to mention orchestra obligations and Russian classes at the university, I'm not sure how my updating schedule's going to hold up. I wish I knew, but alas, I don't. Still, I'll try to force myself on a 7-10 day schedule and see how that turns out. If it doesn't work out, I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out._

_Anyhoo, on one last *really long and totally unrelated* note: I have a new story idea! YAY! (yes, it's from the drugs…) It's set ten years after the zombie apocalypse starts. Main characters are the Axis, with some mention of the Allies, and they're all humans, not counties (so human names will be used, duh~). No character death, but there will be zombie killing stuff! The rest of the plot's too long to summarize here, but it's basically going to be a GerIta fic. I'm planning to start posting it this winter (or summer, if you live in the southern hemisphere)._ _Mayhaps in December? If you think this is a good idea or want a clearer summary, PM me or leave a review._

_On second thought, review or I'll lose inspiration for both stories. Please. K bye. _

_-Sushi_


	6. Case 1 – Part 5

…

_Yep, no comment. Lots of apologies; sorry. Part 5's finally up, so read it and please leave comments. Today was my last soccer game of the season, not to mention that I'm still recovering from losing my flash drive (so I had to restart this chapter, grr). Whatevz. Got a new flash drive and fresh ideas and time! Oh, sweet glorious time; a revolution, eh?_

_Enjoy people!_

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Case #1 – An Open Palm, a Brandished Sword, and a Plate of Kimchi: Part 5**

"I feel," said Kiku solemnly, "it is time we told you all about Feliciano-_kun_'s ability."

A few hours had passed since the Italian's disappearance. Everyone, from both agencies and the Im family, were gathered in the guest house. They were all seated on the floor spare Kiku, who was standing before them, and Ludwig, who was lying in bed and half-asleep from the herbal medicine Yao made him take earlier.

The Japanese man regarded the group with flat brown eyes before sighing and beginning. "As you all know, there was another supernatural occurrence this afternoon in the kitchen. Feliciano-_kun _was targeted and taken, and we are still unsure as to where he is or if he is alive or not…"

He trailed off, the words hanging in the humid air heavily. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Ludwig-_san_ and I believe that the main reason of Feliciano-_kun_ being the first person Im Hong Chul has gone after was for his ability. We have always called it the Shine as to avoid unwanted attention with larger government exorcism committees, but the more common name what he has is _Ostiarius_."

"Latin for 'gatekeeper,'" Arthur explained before Alfred had a chance to open his mouth. "Strange…I've never heard the word used in such a context before…"

"Most haven't. Not likely someone like you, even." Ludwig's words began to slur together as the pain medication took effect. His breathing evened out and he quieted instantaneously. Kiku took a weary seat at the end of the low bed and continued his explanation.

"An _Ostiarius_ is a very rare person, perhaps one in a thousand magic users as uncommon beliefs go. It is a living human who can allow a ghost to move on peacefully without having to harm it through the process of exorcism. This ability is something that cannot be taught or learned, only born with, and is extremely hard to control. It took Feliciano-_kun _until he was eighteen to understand his ability, and he still does not have full control of his Shine."

"Could you please explain what this 'Shine' is?" Ivan asked, causing everyone to turn to the corner he occupied. It was always strange to hear the hulking Russian speak because of his quiet demeanor.

Unfazed, Kiku replied, "'Shine' is the term Feliciano-_kun_ made to describe his ability. He says that a ghost comes towards him because he emits a warm light around him unconsciously. I would believe that has something to do with the phrase, 'Don't go towards the light.' Ancient Asian texts have it that only gods and spirits have this Shine about them, thus strengthening the belief of an afterlife."

"And his Sight?" asked the Britain.

"Feliciano-_kun_'s Sight is quite different from everyone else's. He can, of course, see without the need to open his eyes. He does this because closing his eyes somehow dims the effect of his Shine. He has the Sight as a regular magic-user, being able to See ghosts and the Fey and other supernatural creatures. As for the fact that he can See a person's aura, it is also unique to him. Feliciano-_kun_ told me once that each person who has some special ability gives off a light of their own, with a color. Thus Feliciano-_kun_ is also our key in assessing an enemy. His ability to See how strong a being's aura is has been needed on more than one occasion, to say the least."

"_Intéressant_," murmured the Frenchman. "May I ask, is this why you guard Feliciano with such unique weapons?"

"_Hai_…well, at least that is part of the reason. Our weapons are hand-crafted by out benefactor in Switzerland. We use them to firstly keep him safe and secondly to weaken a ghost enough to stop it from attacking violently. If the ghost is not properly weakened or completely cooperative, it causes Feliciano-_kun_ a lot of pain, both physical and emotional, to try to help it move on. One case had him in a hospital on pain medication for a week, in and out of consciousness. However, I think I speak for everyone when I say the risk is worth it."

Silence fell as each person reflected the words, avoiding eye contact with others. Yao looked straight at the Japanese man in an unwavering fashion. "What are you guys going to do without Feliciano?"

"It is quite simple. We cannot do anything." Kiku sighed and looked away. "The only thing Ludwig-_san_ and I can do is assist your corporation in any way possible and hope for the best with Feliciano-_kun_."

Alfred finally spoke up. "Ya do realize our method of getting rid of baddie ghosts is way more inhumane than what you just said? When it comes down to everything, morale's something we've gotta get out of the way."

The Japanese man hesitated, before meeting Alfred in the eyes and nodding firmly. "_Hai_, I understand."

"I don't think it's safe that the Im family stays here while the case is going," Ivan said thoughtfully. "It will undoubtedly get a lot more dangerous near the house. We have no leads as to when and where, or even if, Hong Chul will be back."

Mr. Im spoke first. "We could leave and stay in a hotel until everything's done. Will that work?"

"It depends when you can leave."

"Will tomorrow morning work for everyone?"

Various nods and murmurs of agreement followed. Yao watched Kiku with quizzical eyes; his gaze broke as Yong Soo ushered him away. The Japanese man soon departed with the Im family as they went back to the main house to pack.

"Cool!" bellowed Alfred when they all left, grinning. "Right, being your boss and leader/hero, I'll be giving directions!"

"And who the bloody hell decided **you'd** be the leader?"

"Well, duh, me."

Arthur began to mutter some form of a curse under his breath as Alfred dug a melty Reese's cup from his back pocket. Francis ignored them both as he showered concern to his perfect nails. Only Ivan stood up, slightly apart from the others. Though he had known Francis and Alfred for a few years now it was obvious the Russian still wasn't sure how to act around them – lately, if Yao wasn't in the room he felt awkward.

Ivan let his thoughts wander to Yao for a moment. Something seemed off about him, ever since they arrived in Korea. He felt more distant than usual (not that he was that close to begin with, for that matter), as though there was something he was hiding, not to mention he seemed more stressed. Ivan knew part of it was the case and financial issues, but there was something more. His gut was telling him there was definitely something wrong.

"So you though my plan was awesome, right Ivan?"

The Russian blinked, his eyes focusing on the other three men who were gazing at him quizzically. Instead of panicking, Ivan smiled as normally as ever. "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening."

"There you have it, then," Arthur said triumphantly. "Even Ivan didn't want to agree to such a ridiculous strategy."

"Shut up!" whined Alfred, but even he was admitting defeat, shoulder slumping.

"I have an idea!"

"No one asked you, frog!"

"I don't need anyone's permission to speak, if I'm not mistaken in the definition of free speech. My idea isn't as selfish and self-centered as yours would be," Francis snapped right back, "and I would be using everyone's powers to our advantage here. I say we ask Ivan to bring the girl from the ghost's memories back!"

"And how would he do that, exactly?"

"It's my ability." Ivan spoke directly to Arthur now, previous nervousness gone. "I can bring people back from the dead."

Arthur blanched.

"Impossible," he whispered.

"It's true," Alfred said. "Ivan's able to bring a free spirit in question back from Beyond temporarily."

"I can show you now, if you like. But I will warn you, sometimes it's not pretty." With that, the Russian allowed the power deep within him to surge forward. _Just like Father taught you. _

A faint purple aura evaporated off of him like flames hovering over water. The Russian reached out in front of him towards empty air. When his arm was extended about halfway, a seam of black light appeared by his fingertips. As Ivan slid his hand though it, the air crackled with energy; a deafening blast of wind and heat swept around the room, creating a miniature tornado from dust and loose papers. The black faded to grey, toning every object in the room with its dull light, before exploding into an orange that blinded everyone and caused them to involuntarily raise their arms to shield themselves. By the time the light vanished and the wind had subsided, Ivan stood in the center of the room gripping the wrist of a young girl.

She couldn't have been older than sixteen. Francis was right – she was beautiful, with long black hair falling over her shoulders like a straight curtain of India ink, bright brown eyes framed by long lashes, and flawless creamy complexions. Even in her ghostly pallor it was obvious she was paling from fear, trembling slightly.

She opened her mouth and spoke in Korean, trying desperately to say something no one comprehended. Realizing she wasn't understood, the girl looked ready to cry. She began to struggle against Ivan's grip which only tightened the more she squirmed.

"Ivan, please don't hold her so tightly," Arthur said. He walked over to the frightened girl. She stiffened like a deer caught in headlights as the Britain held a hand over her forehead and murmured something under his breath. A faint green light hovered over her head, then around the room for a second, until Arthur pulled away.

"There. She should be able to understand what we're saying now."

The girl's eyes widened as the Britain spoke.

"I should think she understood us perfectly." Even Francis looked impressed. "Dear child, what is your name?"

She remained silent, watching them with fearful eyes. After a moment of awkward silence, she asked, "Please, sirs, what place is this?"

Alfred shouted (scaring her all over again), "No way! She's speaking English!"

"No fool, we're speaking Korean." Seeing sarcasm went straight over his head, Arthur sighed and began explaining. "I just cast a spell of common tongues in this room, mostly centered on her. Each person hears her speaking in the language they're most comfortable in. In turn, we can speak any language and everyone here would understand one another. A simple enchantment, but it has its uses."

Turning back to her, Arthur said soothingly, "We are in a small house in the woods on a mountain overlooking Seoul the forest where you would meet Im Hong Chul, if I'm not mistaken."

"Did you say Hong Chul?"

"Indeed. Do you know who he is?"

"Yes. This is his home…Who are you people? Where is he?"

Arthur hesitated. Francis cut in. "We are unsure. He's been in and out recently."

She noticed their hesitation. "You don't know? Please, I can find him, just let me go. I need to see him! Let me go to him!"

Ivan just shook his head. "Прости, I'm afraid I can't allow that. If you tell us what is wrong, maybe we can find him and tell him, _da_? You could tell us where to go."

"No, that won't do. I have to see him in person! Let me go!" The Russian's grip held firm against her struggling. "Please! I need to warn him of the bad men!"

"Can't you loosen your grip or something, Ivan?" Arthur asked again impatiently. "You'll break her wrist at this rate, no doubt."

Ivan gave the group a desperate look. "I can't. If I do, she'll fall into limbo!"

"_Merde_!" cursed Francis. "Whatever you do, don't let go!"

"I'm trying…" But Ivan could tell what little magic he had was fading as exhaustion set in.

"What's limbo?" Alfred asked as Arthur shouted at him, "For the love of God, why don't you spend your damned time reading some informational texts instead of stuffing yourself needlessly with food at every waking hour!"

The room was beginning to descend into utter chaos. Somehow Ludwig was managing to sleep through it all.

"What bad men?" All eyes turned towards the door where the quiet voice had come. Somehow Yao had snuck in without a sound, Kiku trailing behind him like a watchful shadow. As gracefully as a cat, the Chinaman walked to where Ivan was gripping the Korean's wrist and placed a hand over it lightly. The pressure of bringing the girl back from beyond left Ivan as swiftly as it had come.

Yao had approached with caution. The girl calmed enough for him to look her in the eyes. "Tell me, are these the people who came after you when they found out about the baby?"

She blanched, pale features paling. "How do you know?"

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. The young girl's eyes widened as she looked at Yao and Kiku curiously. "Is this so? Like Yong Soo?"

Yao nodded.

"Then I will tell you. It was dark, and I was preparing for bed. There was a sound from outside. I happened to hear it, and thinking it was my fiancé I left the home. I was gravely mistaken – it was his father.

"Hong Chul and I were to be married in secret, though my parents were told. I was of lower birth and undesirable in his father's eyes. But we were very much in love, meeting in secret after knowing each other from childhood. And I was with child then. I do not know how, but his father had found out. He went to the capital to gather friends and they came to 'teach me a lesson,' as they put it. The last thing I hear was his father saying, 'Now I must get that son of mine. He has disgraced the family name grievously so.' Please, you must let me go to him, warn him."

Yao held her shoulder gently and whispered, "I'm sorry, but it's too late. At least a hundred years too late."

"That means…"

"I'm sorry," he repeated solemnly.

"No," came a barely tangible whisper. The grief on her features was raw and obvious. She sank to her knees and sobbed into Ivan's jacket sleeve, small frame convulsing with each breath. "Why? Why do this to us? Why can't I see him again?"

"You will."

She turned to Alfred with hopeful eyes. For once, the American wasn't grinning. His face bore only seriousness as he watched her with hard blue eyes. "Hong Chul's trapped in our world, unable to find you. We've seen him. I promise on my name, my country, and my life we'll find him and bring him back to you unharmed. You will see him again. You have my word for it."

The young girl regarded Alfred for a long moment, her large brown eyes full of hope. Alfred bit his lip, but his gaze and proud posture didn't waver. She smiled.

"Thank you, kind sir. I must go back now. Please, find him. Help him find me."

With that, the mysterious love faded away, back to wherever she'd come from. Ivan's empty hand opened and he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding; Yao let go of his hand and gave him a quick pat on the back. "You did good."

"What was that you did? I was so tired until you held my hand."

"Oh, that?" Yao gave a un-Yao like laugh. "That was nothing. Just some work with life force. Maybe I'll explain it to you later."

"I hope you do. What did you say that calmed her down?"

"Nothing." Yao said it too quickly. He walked briskly towards the others as Ivan stood alone and puzzled.

Meanwhile, Arthur was busy giving Alfred an equally venomous and incredulous look. "Care you explain what you were thinking when you promised that girl an impossible request? You know full well what you said to Kiku earlier: there is no way for us to peacefully exorcise a ghost. Have you honestly learnt nothing about making promises?"

"I don't make promises that I can't keep." Alfred glared right back at Arthur, his eyes like two chips of ice behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "And a hero can't leave those in need without hope. It's the most powerful thing we've got to offer."

"And one of the stupidest things at that!"

The look Alfred gave the smaller man silenced him. As the American turned to leave the room, he said, "Maybe, but it's all we've got now. See me in half an hour in the surveillance room. I've got a plan, and it involves finding Feliciano."

"We don't even know if he's alive or not!"

"He is. I promise ya that too."

And with that, Alfred F. Jones left the room without a backwards glance, leaving Arthur very confused; since when had the American taken such a responsibility onto himself? As he slammed the door in his wake, a dozing Ludwig finally woke from the sound. The blond German took one look around the room, with its scattered papers, to everyone standing there with windswept hair, and asked, "What in the world did I miss?"

**ヘタリア**

All seven men were gathered in the surveillance room. Alfred sat in one of the two chairs with a 2-liter Coca Cola set by him with a straw poking out of it. He was still as serious as before; the only difference was that he was donning his brown bomber jacket.

"Think about it," he said finally, breaking the silence. "Why would the ghost, knowing what Feliciano is capable of, kill him before going back to his bride-to-be? If their love was as true as she made it seem, he'd be looking for any way to be with her again, right? So I'm thinking, if Hong Chul is as desperate to be with her as she is to him, then he wouldn't go killing the only way to get to the afterlife, right?"

"What if he's already moved on?" Arthur asked.

"If he's done it, then why doesn't his girl know about it? He would've been Beyond for at least three hours since Feliciano's disappearance, which I think is plenty of time!"

"But what if it isn't? Then what?"

"It couldn't be," cut in Ludwig. He diverted his eyes from the multiple pairs watching him. "Feli would always tell me how free a ghost felt when moving on. He said they would always call to their loved ones who were waiting for them, always waiting. There was never one ghost without something to look forward to when leaving out world. Feli said they were trapped because they were lost. 'Because they didn't know where to go to find happiness,' he'd say. If Hong Chul's already gone over, she would've known."

"Fine," snapped Arthur, "so he didn't move on. Now what? We have no idea whether or not Feliciano is safe or not, alive or not. We have no idea as to where he could have been taken!"

"I think he's alive," Ludwig said gruffly. "I'm not sure, but I thought I sensed his presence."

"You do not know?" asked Kiku.

"_Nein_, this concussion's ruined my sixth sense. I tried to locate Feliciano earlier, but everything was muddled. It kept taking me back to the kitchen. The rest of the time, I've had just an awful headache."

Francis asked, "Could you try to locate him now."

Ludwig closed his eyes. His face was composed with concentration. He put a hand to his head, eyes opening. "The kitchen. That's all I'm getting. There seems to be something wrong. I've been getting underground as well, swirling like the trees, and beyond the walls of this house. Then the headache."

"Why don't you rest," Kiku said. It was a commanded. "I will bring you dinner when it is done."

Ludwig agreed, winced, and headed out. Kiku watched him leave with worry before directing his attention to Alfred. "You said you would have a plan?"

Alfred nodded. "Wherever Feliciano is, it's gotta be somewhere on the property. This ghost is bound to it searching for his love, and he won't be leaving anytime soon. I want to search the kitchen tomorrow morning – no point doing it in the dark when we can't find anything.

"Right, I'm gonna change the order of watch. We need everyone as alert as possible. I'm letting Ludwig off for his concussion and Kiku to take care of him, make sure nothing comes after them. Yao, I want you to take first watch, Francis second, I'm taking third, Ivan fourth, Arthur fifth. If anyone's up to it, please double up hours. Best have two pairs of eyes watching that just one."

"I'll take first with Yao," volunteered Ivan immediately.

Yao's face remained impassive. "Because I have first, I could also take last. I can get plenty of sleep between the two watches."

"Fine by me," Arthur said with a shrug.

"I will stay back-to-back with you, _mon ami_," said Francis with a smile.

"And I'll double up third and fourth. Okay, we're good! I want a thorough search of the kitchen. I'm thinking there've just gotta be some clues there. If anyone has any new ideas where Feliciano could be, speak up now."

Kiku was about to say something when there was a knock on the door. He closed his mouth as Mrs. Im came in. "I just wanted to let everybody know that dinner's ready."

"Thank you. We will be right there." After she left, Kiku said, "I will tell you after dinner."

Alfred nodded. "Then we're cool. Let's go."

**ヘタリア**

Francis had already changed for the evening after dinner, donning a violet dress shirt and beige pants, tailored specially for the summer heat. His hair was brushed and pulled back in a loose ponytail, a spare hair tie on his wrist. He spotted Yao, who was taking notes in the surveillance room after everyone else had left.

"Ivan here yet?"

"No," Yao said. "Thank goodness," he added with a mutter.

Francis chuckled a bit. "You wouldn't have any cigarettes on you by chance, would you?"

"Yeah, check the bag over there."

Without looking up from the screen, he pointed to a small briefcase propped by the door. It wasn't hard to find the packet and lighter, both very full. Francis slipped them into his pocket. Curious of what the Chinaman was observing, he walked over. "Doing anything special?"

"No…" Yao trailed off, frowning. "Something seems strange about the tape when Feliciano was taken."

"You're rewatching it?"

"Yes. Kiku said something to me during dinner that made me think."

"What about?"

"I'm not sure, but he said he felt like Hong Chul never left this room, especially since he had a living person with him. It would be nearly impossible to carry someone alive through walls invisible for an extended period of time. He suspected there's an entrance to some secret room, maybe a cellar or something?"

Francis frowned; he hadn't thought of that. "It's possible, but highly unlikely. Still, I could check it later with you, if you'd like. Does tomorrow morning sound like a good time, after the Im family leaves?"

"Sure." As the Frenchman turned to leave, Yao said, "You know, you'll get lung cancer by smoking those horrid pieces of poison weed. And I can assure you it won't be a pretty end."

He laughed breezily in return. "Well, at least I'll die an ugly death only once. It's not like we'll live forever, after all."

"Right." Something in Yao's voice was colder than usual. "Just don't waste your life away like that."

Francis nodded, unsure how to react with the Chinaman's eyes staring at him. He settled with saying, "_Alors_, see you at watch switch."

"You too."

Yao turned back to the screen with an impassive face. Francis left, thinking about the kitchen. Perhaps there were some clues hidden there. If so, would the help find Feliciano? And if they did, would they be too late? Shuddering at the thought, Francis walked swiftly outside where a good smoke was waiting. Maybe it would clear up after a bit of fresh air.

**ヘタリア**

"Can't believe I'm stuck with you, frog!"

Arthur was, Francis noted, in an exceedingly foul mood that evening. "Hey, it's not like I asked for these arrangements!"

He watched the Britain sit down by him and wrinkle his nose. "Were you smoking?"

"Is that a problem? If I recall, you use to smoke as well, and much more than me. And more than just cigarettes, _non_?" The Frenchman arched an eyebrow suggestively.

Instead of coming back with a snide remark, Arthur watched the screen. The sulky silence was unusual for the temperamental Britain. Francis didn't complain, though; a bit of silence was nice. Finally, Arthur asked, "Is it really necessary for you to keep digging up my past? Does it please you that much to anger me?"

"It is for sport, a joke," said the older blond. He frowned. "I didn't realize you were still hurt from it."

"Well, I am, so sod off!" Arthur groaned and combed a hand through his hair. Calming, he regarded Francis with glittering emerald eyes. "Look, what happened in high school stays there. I was young, stupid. Things like that don't just vanish from history or become funny stories to tell like they do for you. My father's still upset at the things I did. Sending me to this agency, where he knew full well you worked, was my punishment for shaming the Kirkland family name."

"_Mon ami_, I didn't know–"

"Don't call me that! We're not friends anymore! Besides, what's happened happened. It's too late to reverse that now." Arthur hissed, then sighed. "God, I could use a fag right now!"

"Now, do you mean a fag as in a cigarette, or a fag as in…"

"You know full well what I mean when I say 'fag,' and by God I hope you weren't referring to yourself."

"Only if you wanted me to~"

"But," cut in the Brit loudly, "if my father figures out I've had a smoke, I'm as good as dead."

Francis raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. "Arthur, I think you should go back and rest a bit."

"But you're watch–"

"We've managed fine without you or Yao even, before he came. I'm sure I can live one night without your company. Just relieve Alfred early if you're feeling so guilty."

"Right…" An awkward silence fell. Arthur coughed. "Well, um, goodnight then."

"_Bonne nuit, et à demain_."

"Please, no French crap tonight." But Arthur Kirkland left the room with a small smile on his face. He didn't realize Francis has noticed and was smiling as well.

**ヘタリア**

Yao yawned as he stepped into the surveillance room. The forty-eight scenes flickered at him in their usual way. Arthur sat in one of the two swivel chairs, his back to the door, with (unusually enough) a pot of tea and a plate of scones in front of him.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he quipped. He gestured at the plate before him. "Scone?"

"Um…"

Arthur turned to watch him, face eerily lit by the monitors. "Trust me, they won't poison you."

"If you insist." Cautiously, Yao chose the smallest triangle. Francis had told him once to be wary of the Britain's cooking, saying it was 'a new experience the world could do without.' Still, he didn't want to be rude. And the pastry was warm and smelled edible enough.

Yao took a miniscule nibble. The flavor was instantaneous and just as horrendous as the Frenchman insisted it would be, more like boiled glue with bits of burned rubber in it that a pastry. Doing his best not to gag, Yao forced out, "It's…different. What flavor is that?"

"Cranberry orange peel. It's my mother's receipt." The Brit frowned a little. "Odd, I swore it tasted fruitier when she made it. Have you ever had this particular type of scone before?"

"No, never." The lie came out smoothly and convincingly. Yao could've sworn he had cranberry orange peel scones before at a café, and they sure as hell did not taste like, well, that. "I guess it's not really my preference."

"I see…"

Changing the subject, Yao inquired, "Could I have some tea, maybe. I'm a bit thirsty and some caffeine would help wake me up."

"Certainly!"

Rather than eat the *ahem* scone, Yao settled for a cup of hot brew. Thankfully, Arthur seemed incapable of ruining his favorite beverage so they drank the minty mixture in comfortable silence.

"This is really good tea," Yao said after finishing a cup.

"Thank you. I'm glad you liked it."

"Exactly what flavor was it?" Knowing just about every type of tea in the world by taste, it was odd for the Chinaman not to identify exactly what he had been drinking.

Arthur frowned, thinking. "Come to think of it, I'm not quite sure myself. When I was a lad, I practiced conjuring food from my thoughts. This particular brew was born through experimentation. I've been drinking it ever since."

"Wait, are you saying this tea isn't real, on a technical level?"

The Britain smiled and tapped his index and middle finger to his temple. "All in your head. The same goes for the scones." As Yao pondered over the 'imaginary' food, Arthur asked, "How was your first watch with Ivan."

Yao groaned and slumped down onto the table. "Don't remind me! I swear he was watching me more than the screens!"

"I'm not surprised." Arthur informed. "These screens tend to get pretty boring after a while."

"That's not the point! It's creepy, the way he looks at me. It's as though he's trying to memorize everything about me in a short amount of time!"

The blond man considered for a few moments before suggesting, "Could it be he has, oh I don't know, _feelings_ for you?"

"…"

"I'm surprised you didn't even consider that!" laughed Arthur good-naturedly. "Well, it is possible, isn't it?"

Yao was about to deny the possibility of something like that when he noticed a flicker on one of the hall cameras. "What was that?"

"Yong Soo. I saw him leave his room. Looks like he's heading to the loo."

He nodded, trying to shake off the feeling of unease twisting though his gut. Yao watched as the Korean rubbed his eyes and slipped into the bathroom. It was then that he noticed another flicker also entering the same room.

"Did you see that just now?" he asked Arthur.

"See what?"

"A flicker," he said, pointing. "Right there."

Arthur stared unblinking for a few seconds before shaking his head. "No. Yao, do you think there's something wrong."

"I don't know." He checked his watch. "The ghost attacked last night at 1:43am. I just feel like he could be out again. Could you turn on the bathroom camera for a moment?"

The Britain seemed unconvinced, but did as he was asked.

For safety reasons, there was always a camera set up in the bathrooms of a home in investigation. For privacy reasons, they were usually shut off after a day or so of inactivity in the area. Still, with the flick of a switch, the one blank image came up.

Yong Soo had, thankfully, finished his duties and was washing his hands robotically. Nothing seemed too unusual in the room. Yao slumped back, relieved. Still, something was unnerving about the hour. He was about to ask Arthur to turn the camera back off when the Britain suddenly leaned forward and frowned. "This can't be good."

Yao noticed it too. The Korean's breath was beginning to cloud in front of him. He looked up at the mirror in confusion, as if unable to comprehend the sudden cold. Then, as soon as it came, it vanished. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as Yao's tense shoulders relaxed.

And then Hong Chul was reaching for Yong Soo's throat.

Yao reacted immediately, springing over his chair and clipping an ear mic to his belt before dashing out of the door like a cheetah. He sprinted down the hall and turned; Yong Soo collided into him at full force, knocking them both to the ground.

"Aiyah," he grunted, then stood and helped the taller Korean to his feet. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah."

The mic crackled. "He's coming down the hallway. Yao, get Yong Soo to the surveillance room – I've put a defensive shield around it so that ghost can't get in. Did you get that?"

"On my way," replied Yao. He turned to face his friend. "Run. Get to the front room with all the cameras. You should be safe in there. Tell Arthur when you get there that he needs to find my notes. They're in my briefcase in my room. Kiku should be able to translate them."

Yong Soo nodded. "Got it. But why do you need them now?"

Yao never got a chance to explain. He had barely enough time to yell "DUCK!" as a knife came flying through the air and pinning itself on the wall where Yong Soo's head had been a moment ago. Yao yanked the throwing knife out of the wood; it was polished, razor sharp, with a handle of ivory: a definite antique. He barely had time to admire the craftsmanship before a second one came hurtling at him, missing him by a hair's breadth and clattering into the darkness.

"Yong Soo, run!"

And that he did. Satisfied, Yao turned to face his opponent. Im Hong Chul was still wounded from his earlier bullet to the shoulder, that arm hanging limply at his side. He was armed with a _tanto _held with confidence. The Korean ghost took a step forward and vanished.

"Behind you!" Arthur's voice sounded.

Yao turned and blocked the wielded blade with a resonance that made his bones shake. He recovered as the ghost vanished again.

"Left!"

He parried and circled, knife in hand.

"Right! Now left! Watch your back!"

The fight continued for a whole minute until Hong Chul lunged directly. Yao, who wasn't expecting that, took a hit to his left arm. The cut was shallow, but it still bled.

Arthur was trying to say something, but the harsh crackle of interference made his words indecipherable. Yanking the mic out of his ear, Yao turned to concentrate on the attacks. They came again and again, from various sides. Neither had the advantage: Yao was faster and had two arms to his disposal but was running out of stamina, while the ghost could only rematerialize so fast. On top of that, the Chinese man was incapable of inflicting any injury to the other.

Still, it looked as though Hong Chul was in pain from his arm. He vanished again, but stayed that way. Yao circled slowly, ears perked. Five seconds passed, then ten.

Footsteps approached, breaking his concentration. Arthur slid around the corner, hand raised and glowing like a beacon of pale blue. Yao relaxed for a second. The Britain looked to say something, but stopped and shouted, "Behind you!"

Yao turned as the ghost's sword came flashing down at his skull. Arthur cast the hastiest shielding spell he could muster. As the light left his hand, the young Kirkland could tell he was too late. As the spell shot out, he knew he wouldn't reach in time. The sound of metal piercing flesh and the splatter of blood with its salty scent. Everything flashed by in a blur. The next thing Arthur came to realize was pain as he felt his skin being slashed to ribbons, across his chest and over his neck, the taste of warm copper filling his mouth.

**ヘタリア**

Francis stood in the clearing, hands in his pockets. The sticky air barely rustled through the branches creating a soup-pot type feel to the humid afternoon atmosphere, but he seemed hardly to notice. The Frenchman walked a lap around the clearing slowly; his sky-blue eyes surveyed every detail of the forest floor as if there were some hidden clues just beyond his eyesight. After a few minutes Francis let out an exasperated sigh and sank to the ground with his back to a nearby tree.

It was then that he remembered the pack of cigarettes and lighter in his pocket, taken from Yao's bag. Francis took them out and considered them for a moment. Deciding against what morals were screaming at him, he slipped out a smoke and lit it with the ease of long practice. Taking a long drag, he tried to relax.

It was hard to relax when all he could think of was the night before. The blood, the cold eyes, Arthur's gurgling breath, Yao's missing body, Yong Soo's fear. Everyone's fear. It was strange to think that just a day before he had been asking the Chinese man for a smoke, joking about lung cancer. Francis shivered and tucked his legs closer to him. Before long, a second cigarette was between his lips, the first's remains in an empty tin for Altoids.

An all-too-familiar voice interrupted his thinking. "I thought you were on those nicotine patches?"

"Want to call this relapse?" he asked, the smirk only too clear in his voice.

"Naw." Alfred sat next to Francis, munching on a king-sized Snickers bar. "It's like saying an alcoholic can't have a beer for the rest of his life after being clean because it's 'relapse.'" Alfred made quotation marks with his fingers when he said relapse, the chocolate deftly held between his teeth.

They sat there for a moment, silent. Finally, Alfred asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I thought there was a piece of a memory I didn't notice, perhaps something that would give us more clues as to where Yao and Feliciano could be." Francis laughed bitterly; smoke fluttered out from his lips and nostrils. "I've searched half the property, but there's not a single shred of anything. All we have to work with is Ludwig's sixth sense, and even that's been impaired from his concussion."

"Still, better than nothing, even if that's all we've got."

"_Oui, c'est vrai_."

"So what's going on between you and Arthur?"

The sudden change in topic made Francis choke on his exhale slightly. "_Quoi_?"

Alfred shrugged. "I dunno. It seems like you guys hate each other so much, but there's some sort of mutual respect going on or something. Just wondering if you guys like old friends or something?"

"Or something." Francis laughed and took a long drag from his cigarette. "I knew Arthur back when we were in high school. He was fifteen, and I'd just turned eighteen. I guess you could call us friends back then. Now, not so much. I fear he sees me as a memory of the most unpleasant years of his life."

Alfred seemed interested enough. "'The most unpleasant years of his life,' you say?"

The Frenchman shrugged and extinguished the butt on the sole of his shoe. "That is something you'll have to ask our dear colleague in your own time. It's hardly my position to tell you about his life then."

"When am I gonna get a chance to ask him?" the American asked solemnly. "He could be dead in the hospital for all we know."

Francis opened his mouth to say something, anything to make the moment less horrible. Just then Alfred's cell phone began blaring in his pocket. Excusing himself, the American stood, shoved the last of the candy bar into his mouth, brushed the pine needles from his jeans, took a few steps away, and answered the call. The conversation lasted less than thirty seconds, but Alfred's posture relaxed dramatically and he let out a long sigh after hanging up.

"Well," inquired Francis, "what was it?"

Alfred looked up from his phone, a relieved smile on his face. His voice broke a little as he announced, "Arthur's out of surgery, and he's up. He's gonna be okay."

* * *

_Phew; that's the longest chapter I've written so far!_

_Yep, and there you have it! Many new things going on, I know. Sorry for stalling the plot a bit, I just wanted to keep developing characters because they're not all in 100% character, ya know! And I am aware that a tanto is a short sword native to Japan, not Korea; I just couldn't think of a better weapon._

_And yes, my mom does have a recipe for and baked me cranberry orange peel scones. If you want the recipe as well to bring joy to your household, PM me – I'll be more than happy to send it to you!_

_We'll see when the next chapter will be up. Hopefully next week, if I'm feeling über inspired. Leave comments, because they make me happy and stop the shadows in my closet from munching on my feet at night. Bye-bye!_

_-Sushi_


	7. Case 1 - Part 6

_Sorry for the wait. I'll try to cut down the length of each chapter a bit to make it easier on myself to get these uploaded on time (as in, like, approximately 7-10 days). Plus, I have to write a short, maybe ten chapter, LietPol fanfic because all my friends somehow hate Poland. Including my girlfriend! I MUST PROVE THEM WRONG! I mean, I, like, totally love Poland and stuff! ^^_

_This case should be over by the next part or the one after that (if I cut them a little shorter), then I'll start Case #2. It involves a new character. Joy! Three orchestra concerts and two standardized tests in ten days kills, lemme tell ya! I hate Calculus (math ruins my creative juices – so does Physics). Well, whatevez, please read and review!_

* * *

**Chapter 7 – Case #1 – An Open Palm, a Brandished Sword, and a Plate of Kimchi: Part 6**

Arthur's eyes were open, the shining green orbs flashing like fire under the fluorescent lights of his hospital room. Everything was white, or made horrible beeping noises. His entire body hurt; it didn't take much for the Britain to know that most of his magic was drained from the lack of darkness and nature. What little was left trickled to the most damaged of organs – his throat, his chest, his head – and healed with a slight burn.

His face felt puffy and disfigured, his limbs stiff and bruised. Something in his legs felt broken; the cast around his left confirmed his fears. There was a tube shoved in his throat that sent a constant flow of oxygen to his battered lungs, as well as a complimentary piece shoved roughly up his nostrils. Arthur tried to prop himself up on the enormous pile of plush, white pillows only to slide down and jar everything that felt out of place all at once.

He breathed shallowly. The bandaging across his chest was constricting, but in a good way. Arthur could feel the stretch of broken, stitched skin with every breath he took. Bandages covered him. Up his arms and around his hands, down that especially nasty wound on his left leg, across his chest and abdomen, and wrapping around his neck and forehead. Even his eyes refused to open all the way. Arthur was almost glad he couldn't conjure up a mirror; he didn't want to imagine what his reflection would show him.

The door slid open, drawing the Britain's attention. Alfred walked in, Francis following directly behind him, Kiku taking up the rear. Arthur was hardly surprised, to say the least. He returned his gaze to the plain ceiling he said, "I was beginning to wonder when you were going to come. Well, ask away. I won't be dying anytime soon."

"Hope not." Alfred took the nearest of two plastic chairs from near the door and dragged it by Arthur's bed, turning it so he sat with the back of it in front. He leaned on it with his elbows and rested his head on his folded arms. He regarded his coworker with a scrutinizing look, blue eyes never leaving him.

Kiku approached the bed next, holding out a potted tree. "It is not traditional to bring living plants to a sick person, but I thought having some life would help your healing process."

"Healing comes from the earth, while death from the sky," the Britain whispered automatically, reciting from his studies as a novice sorcerer. "Thank you. Though I'm afraid it'll be dead in the next day or so."

He passively bowed and took a seat. "Then I will bring more."

"You took quite a beating," Francis commented as he pulled up a third chair from the far corner. "Whatever happened to being careful with an extra pair of eyes?"

"Trust me frog, I was," he snorted back.

The Frenchman raised an elegant eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"These bandages are just for decoration, didn't you know?"

"A sick sense of humor, trying to die just to make a fashion statement. Couldn't you try to be more like _moi_, for example?"

Arthur almost laughed. "Oh please. As if I'd leave this world looking like this before eradicating the horror of being forced to stare at your face constantly. I'd rather die than have to bear your pompous arse each day."

"Quit that!" Alfred suddenly burst out. He was shaking a little. "Don't joke about your life like that. Please. I was there when they carried you out to the hospital, and lemme tell ya I didn't think you were gonna make it."

Arthur turned to him, shocked silent. He turned away again, face flushed for whatever reason. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was that bad." He looked back to the American with a small smile on his face. "Look, I'm alright now. My magic's helping the healing process."

"I assumed so," noted Francis. "The doctors also said something about your injuries being less severe than anticipated, judging from the blood around you when Alfred found you dying in the hallway."

Arthur refused to meet Francis's eyes.

"I'm assuming that wasn't only your blood, was it _mon ami_?"

"Yao noticed a flicker from the bathroom," the Britain began, staring straight ahead of him. The other three men leaned forward in their chairs, listening intently. "I didn't believe him at first, but after we saw the ghost trying to grab Yong Soo in the bathroom…

"Well, Yao dashed off immediately without as much as a thought. I stayed behind, kept close tabs on the camera. Yao ran into Yong Soo and directed him to come to the surveillance room. Hong Chul then began to attack with knives. Communication through the microphones broke up with the supernatural activity, so I went to aid him as soon as I could.

"He was fighting, trying to stay alive. I cast a defense spell around him, but I was too late. Hong Chul…he…"

Arthur swallowed. "Yao was cut across his head. He fell…there was blood everywhere. It flew into my eyes. I couldn't see anything but red. The ghost attacked me – I held my arms up in defense. Pain…The next thing I knew, I was here."

Alfred continued to watch Arthur with the same intense look. "Do you remember anything else?"

"No." He'd said it too quickly. Seeing everyone's questioning glances, Arthur sighed and said, "When I hit the ground, before I blacked out, I saw his face – Yao's. His eyes: they stared at me so blankly." He turned to the others. "Dead. There's no denying it. I'm sorry."

The heavy silence seemed to last an eternity. No one said a word, no one made eye contact.

It ended as the door slid open and Mr. Im came in, followed by his son. Yong Soo smiled. "Looks like you'll be okay, Arthur. You're lucky my dad's a doctor! He got you straight from the house to the hospital he works at! Wait, what's wrong?"

Kiku stood up and walked over to him. He whispered something in his ear. The Korean's face fell as his eyes widened in shock. "No way…that's impossible."

"It's true," Arthur insisted. "I saw it with my own two eyes."

Yong Soo just shook his head. "That's it, I'm heading home. Kiku, you're coming. We need to talk."

"Ah, _hai_!"

As the two Asians left, Mr. (or Dr.) Im flipped through his clipboard. "Well, Arthur, you seem to be doing well. The operations to stop your internal bleeding were successful, and there were no damaged arteries. Your oxygen will stay for a few days, I'm afraid, and the hospital has agreed to keep you for another week to access your progress. Then we'll decide when to discharge you. It looks like a couple of weeks now, but you'll need rehabilitation for your leg. You should be able to walk normally in about three months. Though my colleagues and superiors can hardly believe your rate of healing – I know that your magic's probably working. If there's anything else that I could bring that would help, there is a call button by your bed."

"Thank you, doctor."

Dr. Im nodded once and left. As the door shut, Arthur asked, "Where's Ivan?"

"He didn't want to come," Francis replied. "He said something about finding Yao. Poor man, I don't want to be the one to tell him our dear friend is no longer."

Alfred hunched over the chair, a thoughtful expression forming on his features. "Maybe, and I mean maybe when I say this, Arthur here had some brain damage or memory loss that he magicked in there. Maybe Yao's fine. Maybe he's where Feliciano is. Who knows? Last night was a blur. Anything could've happened, right?"

Instead of agreeing as the American had hoped, Arthur just shook his head. "You saw the footage, right? All the blood on the floor? The way Hong Chul hit him across the head? No, I'm positive I saw what I saw. I'll be more surprised to find him gravely injured and alive than falling out of a closet dead as a doornail."

"Well, I'm gonna go look for him!" shouted Alfred as he stood up and headed towards the exit. "I'll prove you wrong Arthur, we will find him, more alive than not!"

The door was slammed with unnecessary force. Arthur just sighed and leaned back further into the mound of pillows surrounding his head. Turning to face Francis (who had crossed his legs at some time), he asked, "Is that bloke always like that?"

"Unfortunately." Francis watched as Arthur raised a swollen, bandaged hand weakly and held it over the tiny evergreen Kiku gifted him. He breathed in slowly; half of the needled dried up and fell off in a yellow and brown wave, the branches sticking out rough and dead.

"You are out of magic, _non_?"

"Drained." Arthur groaned as he repositioned himself stiffly. "Honestly, if I weren't connected to so many oxygen machines, I'd request to be set in the oldest forest in the area and allow nature to heal me there."

"Too bad that is against normal hospital regulations."

"Yes, a pity." Suddenly remembering something, the Britain sat up (too quickly, which caused a new rush of pain) and grabbed Francis's wrist. "Frenchie, there's something important I need you to do."

"_Oui_?" Francis seemed interested enough; when would Arthur ask for his help next, after all?

"Before I went to get Yao, Yong Soo was babbling about me needing to give Kiku something in the briefcase. I completely forgot, but he told me Yao said it was of the utmost importance."

"That reminds me…" He trailed off in thought. "Yao was watching the footage of Feliciano's attack yesterday during his watch. He was saying Kiku told him something at dinner that made him think, something to do with what happened that day."

"What?"

Francis shrugged. "_Je ne sais pas_, he said something about there being a cellar entrance in the kitchen. Perhaps Yao had some notes? But whatever it is, it must be very important. It's almost as though his disappearance was linked to it somehow, even though Yong Soo was the primary target."

Arthur leaned back, brooding. "Yes, I could imagine there being notes. Only Yong Soo, Yao, you, and I know of this. Whatever he has in there, it's important."

"I should go and find it." Suddenly ready for business, the Frenchman stood up. "Rest well Arthur. We'll finish the case from here."

"Good luck."

Once Francis left, Arthur closed his swollen eyes and let himself fall asleep. It was hard enough resisting the effects of the drugs. As he drifted off the young Kirkland thought to himself, _God, I hope my father doesn't find out about this._

**ヘタリア**

Kiku looked up from the filing folder, sword in hand as Ludwig lumbered into the surveillance room. "Are you okay to be out of bed?"

"_Nein_, but this is more important than that." He held out his phone. "Francis just texted me – how he got my number, I don't know. But he told me to tell you that Yao looked into what you suspected and found something. Apparently Yao told Yong Soo to get his notes and give them to you."

"He did. I was just looking over them now. But they hardly make any sense. Look at this."

On the paper was a series of pen marks, all in various colors of ink, all mapping out something in Chinese. At the bottom was a time and one note circled several times with red ink. Ludwig shook his head and handed it back to Kiku. "This makes as much sense to me as the current state of my sixth sense."

"I've been able to translate it. It says: left left bottom, open = Feliciano closes cabinet, look at wok, pot holder (time 1:47.38)." Kiku swept a hand through his hair. "I do not understand what a pot holder has to do with anything that has happened recently. Whatever it is, it must have a very important significance for him to circle it."

"I would suggest watching the video of Feliciano's disappearance," Francis said softly as he entered the room. He smiled. "I see you got my text."

"I see you got my number," Ludwig replied coldly. "And Yong Soo had already given Kiku the documents."

The Frenchman nodded and swept a hand in the air as if to brush away the German's blunt statement. "So I heard, but that is hardly important. I am telling you both to get the footage and watch it immediately."

"Why?"

"Why not? It's obvious – we must see what Yao was talking about!"

"_Hai_, of course, right away!"

Kiku pulled out Yao's iPad and turned it on. Somehow he knew the passcode: 1-9-4-6. As the screen lit up with an anime panda background the Japanese man tapped away quickly. A few seconds later, Feliciano and Ludwig were making pasta.

The three men sat on the floor, huddled closer, and watched carefully as Hong Chul assaulted with spiritual energy; watched as Ludwig was immobilized by the ice, as Feliciano opened his eyes, as Ludwig shot the ghost in the shoulder, watched the two faces relax with relief, watch as Ludwig was clubbed over the head and the ghost vanished with Feliciano under his arm. The time 1:47.38 came and went. Then the screen went dark. It was over in less than a minute.

After a long moment of silence, Ludwig asked, "Did you see anything?"

"_Non_."

"I did not." Kiku turned and patted his colleague gently on the shoulder. "I am sorry, but we must watch it again. I will keep my eyes peeled, as the saying goes."

And they watched it. Again. And again. And again. And again. By the fifth time through, it was obvious they were all frustrated. Kiku let out an exasperated sigh and Ludwig rubbed his eyes. Francis stared intently at the black screen. "_Désole_, we must watch it again."

"_Nein_." Ludwig stood up abruptly, peeved. "I cannot."

"But this is the only wa-"

"I don't care, Kiku!" he burst out, slamming a fist on the nearby table. Panting, Ludwig turned his head away from the others so they wouldn't see the emotions overflow in his icy blue eyes. His voice broke slightly as he spoke. "Please, I cannot watch myself fail to protect Feli anymore. I'm sorry."

"No, it is I who should be sorry. I should have thought of the impact this event has on you." Kiku smiled sadly. "Please, Ludwig-_san_, go back and rest. Francis and I will continue to see if we can find something."

"_Danke_."

As Ludwig left, Francis turned to regard Kiku. "You've seen the video. It's nearly impossible to see what Yao wanted us to see."

Kiku stood still, his slender fingers cupping his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe it is just an issue of not seeing…that's it!"

"What's it?"

Turning to face the Frenchman, Kiku smiled. "I have an idea, but I will require you help."

Seeing the determined gleam in the shorter man's eyes, Francis stood up and returned the smile. "What is this idea you speak of?"

**ヘタリア**

Ivan was alone in the hallway. The police had, thankfully, not been involved. He had taken to wiping away the mess of blood after the Im family left, but he couldn't help but think of all the sticky red substance that covered the floor and walls. Though part of him was filled with a sickening satisfaction of seeing the violence that had evidently occurred, a larger portion of his heart was broken over the fact that couldn't be avoided.

There had been a lot of blood, too much for just Arthur to have spilt. And more than could possibly have been spilt by two living humans. The facts didn't lie; it only added up to one conclusion: Yao was no longer. Dead. And his body was somewhere they might never find. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

The memories of the night before refused to leave him. No matter what Ivan did, he could still see everything with perfect clarity. IT was like being unable to wake from a nightmare.

_He was running down the dark hallway, the only light emitted was from the cell phone in his hand. He'd heard a scream, and came running. He'd turned the corner._

_Blood. It was everywhere: caking the floor and walls in a thick, dark liquid. Footprints had walked through it; those belonging to Alfred, who was kneeling in the stuff, cradling Arthur's head. The Britain's throat was half torn open, his hands spasming as dim green light flicked from his fingertips. He was trying to speak, but could only succeed in choking on the blood that kept gushing up into his mouth._

"Mon Deiu_, someone call an ambulance!" Francis was shouting. _

_There was a gasp from his shoulder. He turned to see Mrs. Im covering her mouth with her hands, eyes wide with a mix of horror and shock. Her son was next to her, looking nearly as terrified. "Mom, let's go."_

_The two left and he stepped forward. There was Mr. Im, his doctoring tools out. He was taking Arthur's pulse, shaking his head. "He's going into shock. We need to get him to a hospital now!"_

_Alfred was holding the Britain as if he were a porcelain china doll. The color had completely drained from Arthur's cheeks, his skin turning to a grayish hue. He was breathing sporadically, shaking, still trying to talk. "I-I-I-I'm all ri-right." He coughed up a glob of red. "Oh God…"_

"_Yao," he found himself saying. "Where's Yao? What happened?"_

"_Ghost, came…he cut…the blood!" Then Arthur had gone deadly calm. "He's gone."_

_The sound of an ambulance began to be heard. Before long, a stretcher was brought in and Arthur wheeled out on it. Mr. Im had departed with the crew, explaining everything he could in Korean. The sound faded into nothing, vanishing into the dark._

_He had walked to the middle of the pool of red, kneeling in it, spreading his hands in it. The madness was coming, the part of him he couldn't control. He was laughing, fits of giggles fleeting though his body, the warm blood running down his fingers as he lifted them to the ceiling. _

"_Ivan?"_

_He had turned with wide eyes and dilated pupils to a worried Alfred. A worried, bloody, frightened Alfred. And all he had done was laugh as if there was no tomorrow, a psychotic smile making its way to his face, disfiguring it with blind craze._

_Alfred had looked so scared, so weak and young as any sane nineteen-year-old should've. "Dude, Ivan, what's wrong? Ivan?"_

"Ivan?"

Ivan looked up, blinking. "Что?"

Alfred was leaning into his face, one of his infamously radiant smiles plastered onto his face. "C'mon dude, did you not hear me or something? No? Well, it doesn't matter. Francis's just cracked the code! We know where Feliciano's been taken! Get your ass to the kitchen!"

**ヘタリア**

Francis and Kiku were standing in the kitchen with both of their backs turned towards the door. One was checking his nails, the other his sword as Alfred and Ivan walked in.

"Yo!" Alfred greeted. "Ludwig not here?"

"He will not be attending this with us due to his injury," explained Kiku. "I have requested he stay in bed unless there were to be an absolute emergency."

"Cool. So what's this thing you wanted to show us?"

"This." Francis held out the folder that Yao had put his notes in.

Alfred pulled out the paper with Kiku's translations on it, read it over twice, frowned, and handed it back. "Um, dude, I did not understand what you're gettin' at."

Francis smiled. "Neither did we, but it ended up the key to finding the secret was always in the video."

"Could ya be any more vague?" complained the American.

Francis smiled again. "I will have Kiku explain this."

"On the night of the attack, when we were having dinner, I was thinking about what Ludwig-_san_ said. He told us he felt Feliciano's presence with his sixth sense as alive in near the kitchen, on the property, and by the trees in the ground. It sounded as though he was speaking of a place secretly hidden that no one but Hong Chul knew of.

"I told Yao of this. He suspected that if my assumptions were correct, that there would be an entrance in the kitchen. He said it would be too difficult for a ghost to carry a living being for an extended period of time while remaining invisible. Following this possibility, he studied the video before his watch. It seems Yao found something because he left us these notes.

Kiku pointed to the cabinet, now void of all cooking materials. In the very back was a loose panel. "With that, we have discovered a secret cellar I suspected of. It was a challenge because Francis and I could not understand what Yao wanted us to find, but we managed to do so with his indirect help."

Ivan asked, "How? Francis said you couldn't understand his notes."

"It was quite simple. Francis-_san_ went to the computer and found the traces of the past that Yao had left there. He was able to see where exactly Yao was pointing as he watched the video. What he had seen was that before Feliciano's attack there was a dishcloth hanging from one of the slightly opened cabinets. After the abduction the rag was nowhere to be seen. However, in the instant that was recorded in his notes, which he circled, there was a hand pulling the cloth down, which led us here."

Alfred blinked a few times before gushing, "Dudes, that's amazing! Who knew there'd be a secret entrance here! And you found that by checking memories? That's awesome!"

"I cannot take the credit for this," Francis said. "It was Kiku's idea."

"Genius!"

As always, the Japanese man shied away from the compliment, blushing and saying modestly, "It is not I, but Yao, that we must thank. Hopefully this will lead us somewhere useful."

"Well, let's see!" Alfred crouched down and yanked the panel out. Toppling backwards, he laughed and looked up. "So, what's in it?"

"Looks like a ladder," stated Ivan, "that's leading down."

"Well then, what're we waiting for? Let's check this out!"

Kiku seemed shocked. "Wait, Alfred-_san_, it could be dangerous for all of us to go in at once. Let Francis go with someone who can defend him. We will probably need him to interpret a stray memory of the place. Ivan or I could go with him, while you stay up here."

"And miss all the action? Hell naw!"

Before another word of protest could be uttered, Alfred slipped nimbly into the cupboard and slid down the ladder out of sight. Francis sighed. "Why don't we all go? You have a weapon, at least, if we get attacked. And Ivan can touch ghost if he concentrates."

Kiku agreed, though looking very discouraged. He went in next, followed by Francis, with Ivan taking the rear.

The cellar was cool and earthy, the dirt packed tightly into solid walls. The stone-and-wood foundation kept the building up. The entire floor was covered in a woven bamboo mat. Kiku noted that the ceiling too low for him to comfortably wield his sword. There was also no sign of Feliciano or Yao. Alfred didn't even notice; he was too busy looking at the barrels stored in the corner. "Is this wine or something?"

"Probably soy sauce," Kiku replied before turning to Francis. "Can you sense anything?"

"A very strong presence. Either Hong Chul's close, or this is a manifesting memory."

As if on cue, a blue haze began filling the room with soft light. The silhouettes of six figures appeared; of them, five were men in their thirties holding weapons – mostly swords, though there was a gun and a knife present – and a sole figure was lying on the hard wooden floor. He was beaten and weak, but it was obviously Hong Chul.

One man, who appeared to be the leader of the group, stepped forward. He pointed his dagger at the younger Korean and began to say something. Hong Chul looked up at him with unfocused eyes and murmured something back. The men around him laughed and the leader dragged the young man up to a sitting position by his hair, and began talking in his ear.

Francis had his eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. "Kiku, do you know what they're saying?"

"I do. I will translate." The slight man closed his eyes, listening, before saying, "Hong Chul is asking where his love is. Her father assures him she is safe."

"Lying bastard, you've already killed your own daughter," spat Alfred venomously.

Kiku hushed him with a wave. "Wait, there is more. He is begging, asking why they are doing this to him. He is asking forgiveness, saying he is willing to work to become worthy of the hand of his love.

"The father, he is the one with the sword. He said that Hong Chul will never be worthy of his daughter's hand, that he deserves to die for even considering to shame her with his name. He says… he would even kill those around Hong Chul – his father, mother, and younger brother – if Hong Chul refuses to kill himself."

Even the Russian looked shaken as he whispered, "Oh God."

The four watched in horrified silence as Hong Chul, unable to stop the men, took the dagger from the older man's hand and held it by his gut. They could do nothing but stare as he pierced his own belly until the handle hit his stomach. They saw him cry out in pain, cry out to his girl, cry out for his brother. They couldn't turn away as he took his dying breaths.

Hong Chul closed his eyes, shuddered, and breathed no more. The men surrounding him conversed for a few seconds. Even though the exorcists didn't understand Korean (except, of course, for Kiku) it was all-too obvious what they were saying.

_Should we get his family too?_

Shaking head. _No, just get rid of the body._

Hong Chul's body was wrapped in a dirty blanket and dragging up the ladder. Then the memory faded.

As the room returned to its normal dim hue, Alfred sniffed, removed his glasses, and rubbed the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. "Unforgivable. He died to protect those he loved, including her. And all her father did was murder her. Why would they do that? What kind of messed up world is this?"

"Love takes many forms," Francis whispered. "Not each one is right, or sane, but it was done out of emotions. There's no way to put these things in a logical way. They just happen."

"Come." Kiku gently pulled on Alfred's sleeve. "It seems we cannot find our companions here. Let us find a way to help Hong Chul move on, at least."

Alfred sniffled a few more times, but nodded. "Yeah. Let's."

With that, the four men left the cellar behind, never once noticing Hong Chul watching them sullenly from the corner. His eyes followed them until they left before he made his departure, gliding through the wall as silent as a shadow. Little did they notice him carrying off the remains of a microphone, battery pack still intact.

**ヘタリア**

_Plip. Plip. Plip._

Yao listened to the constant sound, of water dripping down from the ceiling. It was cool and damp, the air rich with the musky scent of Earth. How long he'd been down there he didn't know. All he was aware of was the coldness seeping into his joints and the darkness surrounding him.

_Plip. Plip. Plip._

Yao sat up weakly, propping himself on his elbows. His entirely ached as though he'd been thrown through a wash cycle and spat out when the machine thought it most convenient. The shirt that clothed him was torn to shreds, unusable, his black sweatpants soaking wet and bare feet numb.

_Plip. Plip. Plip._

As his eyes adjusted, Yao saw there was a slight reflection below him. Looking down, he saw a shallow pool of clear water in the spongy dirt. What appeared to be tree roots made up the ceiling and walls. From high above was one thin stream on light. A single tree root stuck out from the rest and released a single drop of water again, and again, and again.

_Plip. Plip. Plip._

Yao stood. Even with his small frame he had to hunch in the tiny chamber. Yao took a once over, eyes unblinking. The low cave was long, at least fifty meters in length, and barely lit. The only lighting came from whatever sunlight found its way through the soil. The pool extended from where Yao stood on one end to about halfway across. Lying on the other side of the pool was a figure. From the looks of it, probably male. He wasn't moving, and Yao could tell (even in the poor light) that the figure was injured. But what scared him the most was that this mysterious figure lying half-in, half-out of the pool had a mop of reddish hair.

_Plip. Plip. Plip._

"Feliciano!"

* * *

_Finally done! Hoorah and huzzah, eh?_

_Hope I didn't insult any Koreans for cultural inaccuracy and psychopathic families. I'm sure Korea's a lot safer than some places in many other countries, including America. Hope Russians aren't mad at me for making their country's character super psycho. Hope the English aren't mad that I almost killed their country. Hope everyone forgives me for updating so late._

_No translations. Figure stuff out yourselves; saves me some typing. Not that I put any confusing thingies in this chapter. I think even Google Translate can handle this._

_Well, until next time! R&R!_

_-Sushi_


	8. Case 1 - Part 7

_Before I get to the action, I just want to put out a quick word to the victims of Hurricane Sandy. Please know that I, as well as many others around the world, am wishing for your wellbeing. If I were religious, I'd probably be praying too. That said, I, as well as many others I know, am glad to have missed a day of school for the weather._

_Now to the story. THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER FOR THIS CASE! HOORAY! MUCH ACTION TO COME!_

_Wow, this was a hard one to write. I fell, literally, a month behind schedule. That's the main reason why Arthur's injuries are so inconsistent – I wanted to give him only a month in the hospital, and it's turned into almost three. Aw well, sorry for that~_

_As always, enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Case #1 – An Open Palm, a Brandished Sword, and a Plate of Kimchi: Part 7**

Night would be falling shortly. No one was up for anything, though. The remaining five men were seated in the living room without a word of conversation passing between them. As the sun slowly began to set, Ludwig sat up.

"Here," he said gruffly, holding out a pistol and a pair of gloves to Alfred.

Skepticism was only too clear in the sandy blonde's tone. "What, this little peashooter? What's this for?"

"Later." The German shrugged. In the fading red light, he looked beyond tired. "For what I've gathered, you're the only one who can't fight. My concussion is too serious for me to go into battle."

Alfred pouted, but took the weapon. "Last I checked Francis isn't exactly a fighting sort either."

"Ah, but unlike you, _mon ami_, I prefer to stay on the sidelines. According to you, I'm not cut out to be a Hero," Francis cut in. "Besides, Arthur cast a defensive spell on the surveillance room, where I should be safe from harm. Ludwig agreed to join me because he's in no condition to fight."

Kiku seemed to go into a fussy parent mode. "Make sure you don't stare at the computer screen for too long, Ludwig-_san_. LED lights are not good for people suffering from concussions."

"_Ja ja_, I understand."

"Right," said Alfred. "We need a plan."

"Can I help?"

Everyone turned toward the door as Yong Soo stepped into the room. Kiku jumped up, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Duh, I came to help!"

"Leave now! We made you do so to keep your family safe!"

Yong Soo, instead of leaving as he was commanded to do, rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, the ghost came after me. I doubt he'll waste his energy without a target. I trust you guys enough to keep me alive and unharmed, so why not use me as bait?"

Kiku marched up to the taller Asian and glared defiantly into his eyes. "Please, leave. For the safety of you and everyone here. I refuse to have to babysit you like I did for all our years of friendship."

"And I'm sixteen! I'm old enough to make my own decisions! Why can't you trust me enough to do this?"

"I hate to say it, but the kid has a point," Francis said softly. "We're pressed on time. If we want any chance of finding Yao and Feliciano we need more manpower. Yong Soo was the target last time. There's a high chance that he'll be sought after again."

A murmur of agreement followed. Yong Soo raised his eyebrows and smirk. Kiku huffed and muttered, "Fine."

"Great!" shouted Alfred, punching the air. "So, what's the game plan?"

**ヘタリア**

Francis watched the monitors with sharp blue eyes. Ludwig was seated next to him, trying not to look too hard as to avoid another headache. The other four men were in the abandoned living room. They had pushed all the furniture against the walls, creating more space to fight directly and less room for anyone to hide.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Ludwig asked suddenly.

Francis looked up. "You think they won't be."

"It's not that. I'm just worried. I don't want Yong Soo to be taken as well. I don't want everyone to go through that feeling of failure."

"_Ecoutez__moi__bien__, __s'il__vous__ plait_," said Francis with as much authority as he could muster. "It was not your fault, what happened with Feliciano. No one could have stopped him. You're lucky to have gotten away with only a concussion."

"Not every mistake leads to the death of a friend."

"And do you really believe he's dead? Well? I think not!" The Frenchman was about to argue more when he saw a flicker on the screen.

Ludwig checked the thermostat. "Temperature's dropping."

"Well, well, well. It seems our mischievous fiend is coming out with everything he's got," Francis said, pointing to Hong Chul's bandaged shoulder. "He's staying visible. And he's even got a sword. This will be exciting."

**ヘタリア**

The three – Ivan, Alfred, and Kiku – stood back to back to back, staring unblinkingly in front of them. Yong Soo stood in the middle of the circle. Their breaths came out in slow, frosty pants.

"He's here," whispered the Korean. "I can feel it. You guys sure I'll be okay?"

Alfred broke the chilling silence with a laugh. "Hell yeah and of course! As if the Hero would let you die. Besides, this is so like a circling camera moment!"

"Yes," Ivan agreed. "It is almost like the action scenes from many of your country's low-budget movies."

"That was a low blow dude!" the American shouted. He laughed and shot at Hong Chul, who suddenly appeared, then shimmered out of view just as quickly. "Damn, he's fast!"

"Please try to concentrate," sighed a very exasperated Kiku before leaping forward to meet the foe. A clang of metal-on-metal resonated as the ghost blocked the attack with his own sword. Hong Chul had enough time to mutter some sort of curse in Korean before disappearing again.

Before Alfred had enough time to recover, the ghost was upon him. The American's quick reflexes saved him from losing his head, but the gun he used as a shield was knocked away to one corner, as well as his glasses to another. Alfred growled, blood running down his face from a cut on his forehead. He dove after his glasses to the corner, leaving Yong Soo's left side completely exposed to impeding dangers.

Hong Chul ignored it. He went for Ivan next, which proved to be a very bad idea. The Russian took one look at him and punched the ghost full in the face with enough force to momentarily stun him. Kiku darted forward and retrieved Hong Chul's sword. Ivan had a psychotic grin plastered onto his face as he reached for the second blow. By then, the ghost had recovered enough to dodge – the punch glanced off of his cheek – and vanished.

Yong Soo faced forward, unable to defend himself, as the ghost once again rematerialized. Alfred found and desperately reached for the gun, but he knew he would never make it in time. He shouted to Kiku, who immediately turned and slid in front of Yong Soo to face the charging spirit with his sword at the ready. The other sword he tossed towards a half-blind Alfred, who grabbed it and began to approach as well.

Suddenly a kitchen knife flew at Hong Chul's injured shoulder. It went through it, but it got his attention. All eyes were on the dark doorway. Out of the shadows stepped a figure nobody had expected to see. In one of his hands was a wok, the other a ladle. Grim-faced and ready to battle, he smiled for the briefest of moments at the party before charging the spirit with a loud cry.

Only one person uttered a word in that moment. Ivan. He whispered, almost in wonder, as the slim man ran out to save them.

"Yao."

The slight Asian's makeshift weapon began glowing blue as he ran. The light reflected of his hard brown eyes as Yao planted a vicious blow on the ghost's head with the wok. With lightning speeds he began beating the injured Hong Chul over and over again, causing him to bleed. He stumbled to his knees and curled up into the fetal position, covering his bruised face with his hands.

Yao let out a breath with a huff, standing over the mess of a spirit. "He's all yours."

Alfred was the first to react. He dropped his sword and grabbed the one out of Kiku's hands, placing at the base of Hong Chul's throat. The American has somehow found his glasses, one of the lenses cracked. His straw blond hair was matted with sweat and blood, his eyes as dark with anger as blank slate. He seemed to snarl as he said, "Time to die, you little fucker."

"Wait." Everyone turned, surprised, as Feliciano limped forward. "We can't hurt him. Not now. He's ready to move on."

Alfred turned back to Hong Chul, who was kneeling in front of him with his head angled down, and spat viciously. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't bust this bastard's brains out!"

"He didn't harm us," whispered the Italian. "Yao and I are both okay."

Francis spoke up. Somehow, without anyone's noticing, both he and Ludwig had made their way to the living room. "You did promise his girl that you'd do everything in your power to bring Hong Chul back to her alive."

After a long moment, Alfred lowered the weapon. "You're right. He got off lucky this time." He allowed himself one more glare before handing Kiku back his sword and retrieving his glasses.

"Feli, I-"

"Later, Ludi." Feliciano turned and smiled. "I need to help him first."

Hong Chul automatically flinched away as the Italian kneeled down at his feet so they were face-to-face. Unfazed, the brunette held out his hands, palms up and opened. He stayed like that, perfectly still, until Hong Chul tentatively reached to take them in his fingers. As they touched, Feliciano smiled. "You don't have to be afraid. Someone should be waiting for you."

"Are you sure?" the ghost asked. Alfred looked ready to ask why he could understand Korean, but Kiku shushed him.

A light glow surrounded the two kneeling men. Feliciano, his eyes still closed, cocked his head to one side as though he were hearing something no one else could. He smiled. "Certainly. I can hear her calling to you!"

"She's there? She's waiting?"

"Yes."

Hong Chul looked around the dark room slowly as though he were seeing for the first time. He stood, still holding Feliciano's hands. "Please, take me to her. I know you can."

Wordlessly, the Italian inhaled slowly. The glow encasing his hands spread up his arms and torso. A warm breeze filled the room, golden light emanating from it like a gossamer shroud. Feliciano's soft hair began to flutter around his crown as he slowly, slowly opened his eyes. Flickering amber joined the gold as he turned up to regard the ghost.

"_Go_," he whispered, voice eerie and whimsical, in a language no one knew but everyone understood. "_Go to where she waits for you_."

The brightness flashed and focused on Hong Chul. Then, little by little, he began to fade around the feet and hands. He let go of Feliciano and stared as his body faded away.

Yong Soo stepped forward; it was something no one expected. The other Korean watched him approach. They stood separated by less than a meter. Hong Chul blinked. "You are no longer cursed like you were."

Yong Soo smiled. "No, I'm not. I'll be there sooner than you think."

Then, the strangest thing happened. Hong Chul leaned forward and embraced the other Korean. Yong Soo returned the hug. He pulled away after a few seconds, a smile on his face. "I'm happy for you. We may see each other again yet."

"Maybe so." Hong Chul turned towards the light emanating off of Feliciano. "I cannot stay here any longer. She's calling for me. I can hear her now. Goodbye for now, dear brother."

As the older Korean began to fade away, Yong Soo called, "Wait!" He turned his head, torso and legs already vanishing. "Tell me, what's her name?"

"Na Young."

With a final flash the room went back to its dull shades of brown and white. Feliciano looked up from where he was kneeling, eyes once again closed. "Ve, Yong Soo, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!" he exclaimed, wiping furiously at his eyes with his shirt sleeve. He returned Feliciano's questioning glance with a smile. "Nothing at all. Everything's perfect."

Feliciano hugged Yong Soo, tears streaming down his face as well. "Everything's all better now. See?"

"Yeah," he replied with a sniffle.

Meanwhile, Ivan was more concerned for his…friend? "Yao, are you okay?"

"Yeah." He shrugged casually. "Why, what's wrong Ivan?"

"I was really worried, that's all. Besides, you're hurt. That scar on your back. I can see it from where your shirt's torn." Ivan pointed.

Yao turned to look over his left shoulder. "Oh, that? Don't mind it. It's been there for years."

Ivan leaned in for closer inspection. That was true; the portion of the mark that could be seen was darkened with age. Embarrassed by the sudden scrutiny, Yao turned away from the Russian. He was met by Kiku. The Japanese man's shock was evident.

Scowling, Yao asked, "What?"

"That scar," whispered he, reaching out, "I remember it. I was the one who gave it to you. It never healed?"

"Most things that scar never heal, Kiku. Didn't I teach you that much?"

Before Kiku had a chance to respond, Yao stalked away with his shoulders up defiantly. The smaller Asian reached out, an apology forming on his lips, but only to be ignored.

The strange mood was broken by someone's stomach growling. Feliciano gave Ludwig a look of misery. "Ludi, I'm hungry~"

Somehow, that got everyone laughing.

**ヘタリア**

"So what happened?"

It was the next morning, around eight. Ludwig was lying in bed. Feliciano sat with his back against its side, sketching away in his enormous sketchpad. The Italian stopped for a second, clearly contemplating, before picking a lilac and shading in a portion of the creamy paper. It was obvious from his tense body that he'd heard the question clearly.

The German frowned and propped himself up onto his elbows. "I understand if you don't want to talk about it."

"I was underground." It was the first thing he'd said all day. "There was a small lake, but very little light. It came through the tree roots. I kept sleeping because I was too afraid to think what the ghost would do.

"I think it was the second day. I was really hungry, but there wasn't any food, can you imagine? Well, I heard someone shout my name while I was resting. It was Yao.

"He said he was trying to find a way out, and I told him where I remembered being taken in. There was a large root with a bit of space in between it and the ground. We crawled through there while it was dark and came up into a basement. We saw the memory there – Yao translated for me – and we came out into the kitchen.

"Yao grabbed the nearest weapon he could find and told me to follow. And that's where you found us."

Feliciano put the purple coloring pencil down and looked at his paper. "Finished! I'll go give this to big brother Francis!"

Before the German had a chance to stop him, Feliciano dashed out of the door. He found Francis almost instantly. The Frenchman was in the front yard reading a book. He looked up as the Italian approached him. "_Mon_ _ami_, what can I do for you?"

"_Ciao_," he said happily. "I promised I'd give you a picture, right? Right before this case started."

"_Mon_ _Dieu_, so you did! Is this it?" Francis reached out for it with a smile. "Here, let me see."

The Italian handed over his sketchpad with pride. Francis took one look at it before beckoning to Alfred, who had just come out with a 2-liter Pepsi in his hand. "Here, look at this."

Alfred looked. The picture was of everyone on the first night at dinner. They were all sitting, all men from both agencies, eating and laughing and smiling. The sketch was composed of charcoal, completely black and white, except around a few members. Arthur had a strong, emerald-green fire emanating off of his figure, Ivan a shimmering violet. Ludwig had a dark blue hue to his entirety. Yao and Kiku shared a very controlled light blue around them.

"Are these those aura's everyone's been talking about?" the American asked after taking a long glug from his drink.

"_Si_!"

He raised his eyebrows, obviously impressed. "Who'da thunk it? You really can see without opening your eyes!"

Feliciano just laughed. "Well, I'm going to go pack. Bye!"

With that, he ran off. Alfred stared in wonder. "I still can't believe he's got so much power. I mean, he can see without opening his eyes, he can draw like a god, he's got this Shine that makes ghosts go to heaven or something, and they all speak the same language when he uses his powers. The hell?"

Francis stood up and stretched leisurely. "Well, I'm going to go and get ready to leave too. You should hurry, our plane leaves tonight."

"Don't remind me," grumbled the taller man, finishing his soda and slouching back into the house.

**ヘタリア**

Alfred stared at the check in disbelief. "Dude, no way! This much?"

Yong Soo looked exceedingly confused. "Why not? My family is wealthy enough, and it's the least we can do for your services. Especially with the casualties that resulted from it. Honestly, I don't want your agency to carry the burden of Arthur's injuries considering it's my ancestor who decided to chop him to pieces. We'll cover the medical cost as well."

"Are you sure?" asked Yao.

"Totally!" Yong Soo replied with a wink. "As my parents say, people don't live forever and they don't want to leave a world prematurely. We should help them through all hardship to save them and bring them happiness. Besides, we're a family of doctors."

After many thanks from Yong Soo and his family, the teams were ready to head out when Yong Soo pulled Yao and Kiku aside. He led then away from the main gate until they were hidden by the wall of trees surrounding the home.

"Look," he whispered as they rounded the corner. "I don't have much time to say this, but no matter what, I haven't changed here." He put a hand on his own chest, then removed it and put it over Yao's heart; he used the other hand to place it over Kiku's as well. "None of us have changed here. Don't forget it, 'kay?"

With that he pulled away and put his hands in his pockets as casually as possible. An imminent blush was creeping to his cheeks. Kiku stared for a moment before replying, "I do not understand why a younger boy is giving a lecture to two older men."

"You might someday soon enough, old men!" With a laugh, Yong Soo put his arms around their shoulders and walked them to their cars. "By the way, tell Alfred he has to split the money between the two groups because it was more than just one side that did the work. You worked together!"

"Aw, c'mon!" they heard from one of the cars.

Yao couldn't help it; he laughed. "Please, we can't be that greedy! What we get here is more than enough to save the agency, and you know it!"

Kiku looked at him in shock before smiling a little too. Maybe there was a time that the two of them could make up for what happened in the past. Bowing slightly, he walked past the shaking Chinese man and got into the limousine where Ludwig and Feliciano were waiting. Maybe, but not today. It was still a bit early for that.

**ヘタリア**

Arthur was lying on the hospital bed, half-conscience through the haze of drugs and covered in wires connected to beeping monitors. His chest rose slightly with each hiss of air from the tube in his neck as his eyes surveyed his surroundings. Almost anything he could see was written in Korean (which didn't help him) and he was too weak to conjure an easy translating spell (which _really_ didn't help him). The curtains on the small window were drawn, the air reeking of chemicals. He was still sore all over. On top of that, the encased stitching under his bandages itched like crazy.

A slight knock caught his attention followed by Yao walking into the room. He was wearing jeans and a red t-shirt, holding a potted plant much like the dead one on the nightstand, only alive. The only difference was a large Band-Aid covering a lump on his forehead. "How're you doing? I heard you suffered some major injuries from the others."

Arthur stared, eyes wide with a mixture of horror, fear, and disbelief. "Impossible. You're dead."

Yao shook his head with a laugh. "You must have been hallucinating. Arthur, the ghost took me unharmed. I woke up without a scratch on me. Well, except for this bump on my head. But I'm still alive. See?"

That much was true. The Chinaman's skin was as flawless as it had always been, and even Arthur's dull senses could feel the life thrumming off of the other like a constant heartbeat. The warmth of his hand couldn't be fake either. Still, as he watched Yao put the little tree on his bedside table, something didn't seem right.

"The blood…"

"From my head wound," he replied coolly. "It wasn't as serious as it seemed."

"But-"

Yao shushed the Britain. "Rest. Ask me later, when your better. You've got a long ways to heal before you're fit enough to come back to New York!"

Arthur groaned. "Don't remind me."

Yao smiled and got up to leave. The injured man lifted his hand and tugged at the other's shirt. "Wait. If you happen to receive any phone calls or messages from my father, could you please tell him that I'm on a business trip? Preferably somewhere away from any access to modern technology."

"Of course," whispered Yao soothingly, "that's my job, isn't it?"

"Thank you."

"See you back in America."

"Likewise."

"Oh, and Arthur?" The Britain looked up as Yao gave him a thumbs up. "Case closed."

Arthur relaxed a bit and smiled. "Excellent."

* * *

_Happy Election Day (for everyone in America)! Thank the gods for no school days! This is probably the only reason why this is done! Kinda lame and rushed, but oh well! And I'm going to start Case #2! This one's back in America. There will be a new character. He will be a permanent addition. And he is my fav! Hooray!_

_Not much else to say. It's getting colder, so my fingers aren't doing so well. Screw poor circulation. Swim season's started, so that means two-a-days (4 hours!) of pool and weights. Joy. I'll try to update lots!_

_-Sushi_


	9. Case 2 - Part 1

_Wow, two chapters in one day! Not bad at all, eh? Again, thank the gods for no school! Hello my lovely fans! Woohoo, the next case has begun! Sorry that Case #1 was so slow; I'ma gonna try to pick up the pace a bit! _

_So as a time reference, Case #1 should've gone in a time period of about the second week of August of this year. This is, as you will read, two months and a bit later. So October it is! And it's been frightfully cold where I'm living, so I hope I'm accurate when saying it's f**king cold outside!_

_My fav country is introduced, and yes, he will be a regular (***applause***), so without further ado, let's get this show on the road!_

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Case #2 – The New England Housewife: Part 1**

Arthur rubbed a hand lightly over his aching throat. Though it had been eight weeks since the case in Korea and four since he was released from the hospital, the October air seemed to make the healing scars hurt again, even through the black turtleneck and red scarf he wore. Not to mention his leg throbbed with each step he took. It was probably just the cold, but the sensation was still unnerving; Arthur felt as though the telltale wounds were open and bleeding again.

Sighing, he ducked into the nearest coffee shop. Alfred had once again managed accept the exorcism request without thinking anything through or consulting the rest of the team. Then he placed reservations at a five-star hotel without checking the geography or the price. In other words, the agency lost money **and** they had a good drive from Boston to the little town they would be working. Typical of the rash American, but nonetheless annoying.

Pulling his mind away from Alfred, Arthur surveyed the café he had stepped into. It was a cozy little place with about twelve tables made from wood. All of them were packed with college students studying amid laptops and papers, business men and women eating breakfast before work, a couple of tourists, and a family of four who were laughing loudly. Overhead lights cast an almost-yellow glow to the place that reminded the Britain of a fire spell he had cast some years ago. The aroma of coffee, cinnamon, and baked goods greeted him, causing his stomach to growl a bit.

_I might as well grab a bite to eat, _he thought to himself as he scanned the menu on the wall, written in three different colored chalks. Arthur scowled a bit; there were so many things on the menu, and his favorite tea was not one of them.

"Arthur Kirkland?"

The voice came from behind him. Shocked, the Britain turned around to see who had addressed him. A boy no older than eighteen or nineteen stood there looking at him with an expression of disbelief. He had short blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a shocking resemblance to Alfred. However, he held himself in a very timid manner, which was very unlike the American. The boy was wearing glasses, loose-fitted jeans, and an oversized grey jumper that had the design of a red maple leaf on the front of it, much like the one on the Canadian flag. Arthur only knew one Canadian in his entire life, but it couldn't be…could it?

"Matthew?" he said tentatively, eyes flashing with recognition.

The boy beamed so brightly it burned and practically dove into Arthur's arms, embracing him tightly. "Oh my God, it really _is_ you! I thought I was going crazy or something when I saw you walk in!"

"Matthew?" the Britain asked again, incredulously. "Matthew Williams? Truly? What on earth are you doing here?"

His enthusiastic cousin broke away, a grin splayed across his face. Arthur was a bit shocked. Most importantly in his mind's eyes was how much happier his cousin appeared to be. Last time they had seen one another was years ago, when he was thirteen and Matthew was had just turned nine. Back then wasn't the best moment of his cousin's life; he'd been full of tears and painful memories. Now, he was smiling, his eyes dancing with life, and there was some color in his translucently-pale cheeks. Then, of course, how on earth did Matthew recognize him? They were only children last they saw each other, after all. Last he checked the boy was living in Canada with his mother.

Matthew gushed in response. "Arthur! I can't believe it! We haven't seen each other in about…how long has it been? Ten years or so, eh? I just didn't think I'd see you in Boston."

"I could say the same thing. What are you doing here?"

"I was going to ask that. I'm here for a three week study trip." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, indicating the pile of papers and notes strewn on one of the nearby tables. "I'll be heading home in about two days or so. What about you?"

"I have a bit of work to do."

"My mom told me about that. You're working for a detective agency, eh?"

Arthur thought about the last case they'd handled and the amount of medical service that it had required. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his covered throat, replying with, "Of a sort."

"Well, sit down. The hot chocolate here is really good! I'll order you some. And they have amazing pancakes with maple syrup. I'll share. You should eat. You look a little pale, eh?"

"It's just the cold and my English complexions," he replied quickly, shrugging off his jacket and gratefully accepting the invitation to sit. Matthew ran to the counter and quickly added another order of hot chocolate to his tab. As he untangled the scarf from around his neck, Arthur asked Matthew, "How did you recognize me?"

"Eh?" Matthew blushed as he came back to his seat. Some things didn't change; he was a shy as ever. "Well, um, it sound kind of silly, but I saw your…" He trailed off and looked at his cousin's face nervously.

_My eyebrows, _thought Arthur with a pang. That had to be it.

"…your eyes…"

"I beg your pardon?" the Britain gasped, surprised.

Matthew's blush became more prominent; he practically whispered in response. "I don't have the best memory in the world, but I always remembered the way your eyes would look when you scowled. They'd always light up as if there was some sort of game that came with staring people down, eh? It seems really weird to say it, but the way you looked at the menu reminded me of the way you looked at my mom when she came on my ninth birthday…"

An awkward silence spread between them. They were spared a long wait for words as a young waitress called out Matthew's order. He quickly went to receive it, bustling between the tables. The Canadian came back and set a heaping platter of pancakes and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate in front of them. Arthur gave him a quick smile and thanks before Matthew looked eagerly at the plate of food before him. His older cousin smiled; something about that glee reminded him of a much younger Matthew with his oversized sleepwear and glasses every morning when breakfast was served. It seemed some things really never changed.

"How was the Occult meeting this year?" asked Matthew while pouring a terrifying amount of maple syrup onto his pancakes.

Arthur tried to act casual. "Um…I didn't attend it."

This surprised the Canadian. He looked up over steamed-over glasses. "Why not? I remember you were always so excited to become old enough to help your dad with the Initiation Ceremony! Did something happen?"

"I grew up," the Britain replied with a shrug, "and realized it wasn't what I wanted to do."

"Really?" Even with all of his shyness, Matthew's skepticism was clear.

"So you're in college now?" asked Arthur suddenly, trying to strike up a normal conversation while enjoying the thick hot chocolate. It burned on the way down, but it was rich and satisfying. Probably from the sudden warmth, his covered throat began to itch uncomfortably. Arthur pulled down the hem of the turtleneck as subtly as he could and scratched the jagged injury.

Matthew went with it, though this was an obvious way to change the subject. Oblivious to his cousin's uncomfortable motion, he nodded and swallowed a mouthful of pancake. "I graduated valedictorian of my high school, despite having to transfer twice. I'm studying at the University of British Columbia now, but I might be transferred to McGill College if I study hard."

Arthur struggled to hide his very visible shock, letting go of the shirt. "I didn't realize you were a genius!"

"Nothing compared to you," the Canadian countered, "You graduated top of your class from Oxford!"

"And I was only given a scholarship there because of family ties," interjected the Britain, before evading the subject of his slightly _unusual_ education. "You've started your first semester, I presume?"

Matthew nodded some more. He did that a lot as a young boy. Arthur smiled at the memory, taking the pancake that his cousin offered in a polite yet grateful manner. He took a bite and hummed in appreciation. It was a bloody good pancake.

He noticed the Canadian glancing at his exposed neck with a taken-aback expression. Of course – Arthur had completely forgotten that Matthew had never seen the healing stitches before; they probably looked gruesome in the café's lighting. He swallowed his bite of pancake, feeling the raw skin stretch, and answered the question before it was asked.

"Don't worry about it. It's just a minor injury from work."

"_Minor?_" implored Matthew, his tone incredulous. "Arthur, you look like you were mauled by a bear or something!"

_Or something_, he thought to himself. Feeling guilty for saying a white lie, Arthur opened his mouth to explain-

-only to have a gust of wind blow his hair into his eyes from the now-open door. The Britain turned, glaring over his shoulder to see who had the nerve to swing open a door in such a manner only to bite back his disgust.

Francis Bonnefoy sauntered into the coffee house in a way that seemed to charm every person, male and female alike, in the vicinity (except for a very annoyed Kirkland). The Frenchman donned an array of clothing that gave him a cool and sophisticated façade: knee high black boots with a matching long coat, tight grey designer jeans, white collared shirt, and a dark blue-and-green _écharp_. The clothing only helped to accent his tall, slim build and bottle-blue eyes. His hair was swept back into a neat ponytail; though it had been obviously been teased by the windy conditions outside, the tousled look only emphasized how silky his golden hair was. Francis looked like an angel that had dropped down from Heaven to pay a quick visit.

It pissed Arthur off.

He turned back around to face Matthew who, to the elder's surprise, was blushing as bright as the summer sun while watching Francis open-mouthed. Arthur raised both eyebrows over his mug as if to ask, _What's getting you all in a tizzy? _

"He's gorgeous!" the Canadian whispered, leaning in closer to the table excitedly. "He looks like a movie star or a model!"

"Not really…more like an exorcist."

"You think so?"

"I **know** so. I'm work colleagues with that bloody French git, _unfortunately_." He purposely emphasized the last word with a tone that was only disapproving.

As if the Britain's voice had carried through the crowded café to the man he'd just insulted, Francis turned to face him. He flashed a warm smile of recognition, which was pointedly ignored, before sitting down in the empty chair diagonal from Arthur and next to Matthew. The younger man had a look of utmost disbelief on his face as Francis sat at their table.

"_Salut_, Arthur," he said brightly.

He was answered with a cold nod. "Francis."

"_Oh, mon ami_, _vous ne serez jamais__se faire des amis__avec votre attitude__désagréable!_" sighed the Frenchman, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head slightly. Arthur glared at him for speaking French, anger boiling through his blood. The eerie tension began to build until Matthew began giggling, looking directly at Francis with shy eyes.

"Oh," Francis said, suddenly interested in the Canadian's presence. "_Parlez-vous français__?_"

Matthew blushed and studied his feet intently. "_Oui, un peu__."_

The Frenchman perked up slightly. "Arthur, you didn't tell me your acquaintance spoke _français_."

"I didn't know he did." Arthur glanced at Matthew with renewed interest. "Since when did you learn a second language?"

"Last year, when my mom moved to Montréal," he replied quietly.

"_Alors_, where are my manners!" exclaimed the handsome Frenchman. "_Bonjour, je m'appelle François-Joseph Bonnefoy. Et vous?"_

"_M-moi, je m'appelle_…Matthew_. Enchant__é__."_

"_Enchant__é. Matthieu, oui?" _Francis took one of the Canadian's pale hands in his and smiled warmly. This caused the younger man to blush and nod steadily. Francis laughed slightly, in a throaty manner, and winked.

Arthur coughed noticeably, causing the strange first encounter's chemistry to dissolve into a more polite situation. Francis quickly departed to order breakfast, leaving Matthew sitting in a state of shocked silence. Once he returned, the Frenchman refused to look in the Canadian's direction (though he did take the seat next to him), choosing instead to ask Arthur all of the questions.

"_Matthieu_, he is a friend of yours?"

"My cousin," he replied curtly. Taking a sip of the chocolaty liquid in his hand, he enjoyed the awkward demeanor Francis had about him. It was rare to make the older man feel in any way intimidated and he had to admit he was enjoying it. "My aunt is his mother. She met his father about twenty-five years ago. My father became very close to Matthew's when I was still a boy, so we often flew overseas to visit."

"So, I presume, you two are very close?"

Arthur hesitated, so Matthew cut in, "My mom was never a big fan of the Kirkland business. After she won the custody battle, I wasn't allowed to contact Arthur or anyone else from her side of the family. That was about ten years ago."

Francis nodded understandingly. He didn't pry; this was obviously something these two had to work out for themselves. He quickly excused himself and glided over to the line of people waiting in varying degrees of patience to pick up their orders.

With the Frenchman out of hearing range, Arthur felt free to talk. "I didn't know you were banned from giving me a ring."

Matthew ducked his head and mumbled, "Why else did you think I didn't call?"

"I don't know. I thought…" _I thought you might've grown out of magic._

"I missed you," said the Canadian. "Mom was determined that I would never have anything to do with 'your world' as she put it, but I really wanted to go back. I even tried to run away from home once."

"Really?"

"Yeah, when I was nine. It must have been after two months or so after she took me back. I stole her debit card and went to the nearest bus station. She found out before I was able to get to the airport." He laughed a little; it wasn't a happy laugh this time. "She was so mad that she threatened to lock me in the basement for a year if I tried to leave again. I was only nine, so that convinced me to stay. After that, I forgot practically everything you taught me. I couldn't even See. I think that hurt the most because I lost everything from London, eh?"

Arthur nodded considerately. "You know, the Sight isn't something that just goes away. Once you have it, you'll always have it. I could show you how to use it again sometime, if you'd like. I mean, granted your mother won't find out and curse me to eternal damnation for it."

That got a real laugh out of Matthew. "Well, she wouldn't have to know. I'm in college now. It's the definition of freedom, eh?"

The two shared a smile and a laugh, the first they had after ten years. Finally, Arthur stated, "You seem a lot happier. Did something change? Presumably, something big?"

Matthew purposely took a large bit of his second pancake, an obvious tactic to consume time. After chewing slowly and swallowing every last molecule of food, he said quietly, "I've stopped having those dreams."

That was not the response his cousin had even considered a possibility. A little surprised, he asked, "Wouldn't that be a good thing then?"

"I guess, but it only felt like I lost another piece of my life away from Canada." He shrugged and took his third pancake, drizzling maple syrup over it. "Still, it's one less thing to worry about, eh?"

"I would assume so, yes."

Francis returned then with a bowl of baked oatmeal and cooked cinnamon apples. He sat down in the empty seat next to Matthew again and said, "I called Alfred. He said he's on his way with Yao and Ivan. When they get here, we'll finish breakfast and head to the home of our client."

Arthur frowned. "His home? Is that where the ghost is?"

"Possibly." Francis shrugged. "Apparently, the man has never seen this spirit. All we have is physical evidence in this case."

"That's not much to work off of."

"_Oui_, it is very unfortunate." The blunt statement didn't help. The two men sat brooding.

"Um?"

The Britain jumped. Based on the sound of a chair scraping the floor, Francis had done so too. In that moment, they'd completely forgotten about Matthew.

"You guys didn't just say 'ghost,' eh?" He looked back and forth at the two sitting in front of him. They avoided his sweeping eye. "You're kidding! My mom told me you worked for a detective agency!"

"I did say, 'of a sort.'" Arthur retaliated, and then sighed. He had to explain; he'd just found his cousin, and the last thing he wanted was to have Matthew mistrust him. "I do detective work, but mostly with the supernatural. The agency I work for exorcises spirits that are causing…problems, for people who can't do it themselves. It's not uncommon, but it's often unreported."

"So Francis does this too?"

"_Oui_."

Matthew sat in silence as he digested the news. Francis and Arthur exchanged a look of worry; perhaps it has been too much information to give at once.

_After all_, the Britain thought to himself, _I hardly know anything about Matthew since the day he moved out. For all I know, he could be someone that cannot be trusted with such information._

"That's so…cool!"

"What?" exclaimed Arthur as Francis raised his eyebrows and said, "_Pardon_?"

Matthew nodded. "I mean, you're like secret agents, or undercover investigators. It's a job that saves people! I've always wanted to do something like that, saving people, I mean. Except…well…I'm so, you know…this, eh?"

He finished lamely while gesturing at himself. Matthew composed himself and looked up with a smile. "So, who is your boss?"

"A completely and utterly incompetent man!" exclaimed the Britain the moment Francis burst out, "A dear fool, _mais_ _mon_ _copain_, none the less."

"You reminded me a bit of him…" Arthur added thoughtfully.

Matthew glanced up from his last pancake quizzically. "Who, you're boss? I might know him, eh? Who is he?"

In that instant the café door swung open with a bang. In came Alfred donning his bomber jacket and with his heroic laugh, followed by Yao (embarrassed for the other man) and Ivan (who appeared perfectly at ease). The awkward trio huddled into the tiny space they could occupy.

"Ahaha! Hello everyone, the Hero has arrived!"

"Typical American," muttered Arthur.

Francis nodded, smirking a bit. "There you have it, _Matthieu. Il est notre patron._"

The Canadian stared, mouth hanging open. "Wait, that's your boss? No way! Al?"

"You're kidding!" The American seemed equally shocked, pointing at Matthew wide-eyed. "Dude, Mattie? What the hell are you doing here?"

The other four looked at the two dumbfounded. Ivan broke the silence as he asked, "You both know each other?"

"Hell yeah we do!" Alfred half-shouted half-laughed in reply. "Mattie here's my half-brother!"

"Cousin," corrected the quieter boy. "We're cousins."

"Well, which is it then?" Francis asked. He leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "Are you brothers or cousins?"

"Cousins," said the Canadian hastily as the American bellowed, "Totally bros!"

Matthew turned on Alfred, standing. "We are not! Our dads are brothers, not the same person!"

"Yeah, but they're identical twins, which means they're genetically 100% identical, making us brothers!"

"It does no such thing," replied the younger haughtily, crossing his arms over his chest. "Our fathers are different. No matter how you look at this we are not brothers, despite the genetics, eh?"

Al rolled his eyes and put his hands in his pockets. "Whatever! We're still 50% related by blood!"

Matthew scowled, but it wasn't a mean look. It was more playful than anything. Alfred sensed this too for his face broke into a wide grin. He held his arms open for an embrace. "Good to see ya, bro!"

"Cousin," Matthew replied instinctively as he clasped Al on the back.

"C'mon, it's just a saying!" Once they released one another, Alfred turned to the seated men and asked, "So, what was Mattie doing with bushy-brows and pretty-boy here?"

"Talking," Arthur replied stiffly. He hadn't appreciated the comment on his eyebrows. "Matthew seems quite interested in the work we do."

Alfred seemed genuinely surprised for a millisecond, before turning back to Matthew. "Why were you talking to Artie about ghost hunting? He wasn't trying to hook up with you, was he?"

"Of course I wasn't! What do you take me for, you bloody sod, some sort of whore? And who the hell are you calling Artie!"

"He didn't, Al. Arthur is my cousin."

Alfred obviously wasn't expecting that. He looked at Arthur, wide-eyed. "Wait, we're related? That totally sucks!"

"I beg your pardon?!" A visibly dark aura was building around Arthur's shoulders, his eyes clouded with rage as he stood up. "You really would hate being my relative that much?"

"Um…" Alfred hesitated. He looked around despairingly for help. "Guys?"

Yao grabbed Ivan's hand. "Let's go. I'm not that hungry right now."

"Okay." Ivan seemed a bit shocked, but wasn't exactly unhappy that the smaller man initiated contact. He turned as they walked out and waved. "Bye Alfred!"

He whimpered. "Aw, c'mon! Mattie, Francis?"

"You brought this onto yourself," said the Canadian. "Anyway, Arthur's cool. And you guys are only related by marriage so it's not the same."

Alfred's relieved expression seemed to be exactly what the Britain didn't want to see. Francis ate faster than he'd ever dared to in his life and bolted out of the café, Matthew at his heals, the two of them laughing at the situation unfolding. As they stopped to catch their breaths, Francis asked, "_Matthieu_, would you like to accompany us on this case? At least a part of it? I'd like to get to know you a bit more, if that's okay."

The Canadian met the Frenchman's eyes, smiled, and nodded. "_D'accord, pourquoi pas_."

"Really?" Even Francis was shocked by the immediate answer.

Matthew blushed, but kept his gaze steady. "_Bien __sûr_, I'd love to."

* * *

_Yep, there it is. Le sigh. Now I've officially started the second case (never thought I would after the lack of success in Case #1). But all true writers write for the joy of it, despite popularity, eh? _^^

_FIRST OFFICIAL PAIRING BEGING! Yeah, Franada. Don't like, don't hate, please and thank you. Part 2 coming your way soon. Hopefully swim season won't put a damper on my writing time! (lol, punny…not really, no)_

_P.S. My French sucks. So help me if you see any glaring mistakes! If you speak French, you probably know what I'm trying to say. If not, Google Translate is available, eh?_

_P.P.S. I doubt Canadians say "Eh?" this much. Sorry to all Canadians! I wanna move to your country, so don't hate too much! _D:

_-Sushi_


	10. Case 2 - Part 2

_Nothing much to say. Hate waking up at five in the morning for swimming. Hate swimming for three hours a day. Totally addicted to it. WTF, eh? Oh, so much HTTYD music to wake up to…_

_Shorter chapter with absolutely nothing about the case (hurrah and huzzah, more character development). Too tired to care. Sorry. R&R, as always. 'Kay, later._

* * *

**Chapter 10 – Case #2 – The New England Housewife: Part 2**

The six men were walking down a brick road – Arthur leading the way with Francis next to him, Alfred and Matthew catching up with Ivan and Yao taking up the rear in an awkward silence. They were located in the suburbs, in a nicer neighborhood. Grand houses lined either side of them between elegantly arching streetlamps. The air practically reeked of money, lawns taken care of like expensive manicures. A middle age woman passed them wearing a ridiculous purple suit and carrying a little white poodle in her handbag (which took its time to growl as they passed). She raised her inhumanely thin eyebrows at the ragtag band of, for the most part, poorly dressed exorcists and huffed by without a second glance.

"As if she has the right with that makeup and those heels," remarked Francis loudly enough for her to hear. She stiffened, but kept walking. The Frenchman smirked. Arthur couldn't help but sneer a bit as well.

"By the way, I'm surprised the police weren't called on you," Francis said mildly to Arthur (which immediately whipped the sneer off his face). "That, and that Alfred is still alive. Though I feel that decorative black eye you gave him might turn some heads. Did you see the way that taxi driver stared at him? Hilarious!"

"Why the hell do you even want to talk to me?" growled Arthur irritably. "Last I checked, we agreed to not associate with each other."

Francis gave his a sharp look. "I never agreed to that. You decided that yourself in your self-righteous mind." He ignored the Britain's death glare. "I was quite surprised to meet your cousin. He took the news of our occupation quite well."

"He only took it because you had to act so God-damn charming!"

"Who said I was purposefully trying to act charming? I'm telling the absolute truth when I say I did not use my obviously gorgeous charm on _Matthieu_. Whatever reaction he had in my presence was completely natural. Don't tell me _mon petit Britannique _is jealous~"

The dark energy rolling off Arthur's skin was so thick it could be cut with a butter knife. Sensing things would go downhill as it did for Alfred earlier, Francis decided it was best to leave his coworker – as well as his coworker's cousin – alone. The Frenchman increased his stride length smoothly until he was a good distance away from the fuming Arthur Kirkland.

Francis continued his brisk pace. Things had changed since the last time he and the Britain had known each other. He was…angrier, somehow. As though something had happened to take away everything he lived for. Francis frowned. Maybe Arthur had just grown up. They'd only been teenagers, after all, and a couple of idiot teenagers at that. Maybe he'd found his own boundaries on life. The idea could work, but the Frenchman's gut feeling told him something about this situation wasn't right.

"Are you okay?"

Francis jumped a bit as he jerked out of mid-thought; somehow the Canadian had managed to sneak up on him. Rare – he had a keen enough sixth sense. Nothing like Ludwig's, but keen enough. Matthew stared at Francis with crystal blue eyes and smiled. "Something's bothering you, eh?"

"Just a personal issue," he replied smoothly. "Nothing for you to concern yourself over."

_Yet, _he almost wanted to add.

"Oh." The way Matthew said that one word made Francis wish he had added the 'yet.'

"I was just thinking about Arthur's earlier years," Francis added quickly. "You know, before the agency."

Matthew thought about it for a second, then shook his head. "I can't really help you there. My mom was pretty protective of me. I wasn't allowed to see Arthur or his family since I was eight. I was also banned from using magic."

"_Ah oui_?" asked Francis, perplexed. "You have abilities too?"

"Well, I am technically half Kirkland," the younger blond added with a laugh. "There was a chance I would be born Mortal. I think my mom was seriously hoping for that. Dad, though, he was so proud when he found out I had some powers. I don't remember it, but he told me that when I was three, he found me in the garden arguing with a thin air. When he asked me what I was doing, I told him that there was a flower fairy who wanted us to stop cutting the 'pointy things' off the roses."

Francis smiled as Matthew made quotation marks with his fingers. "So you have the Sight. What else?"

The Canadian lowered his fingers and stared at his feet. "Well, that just it. I don't know."

"How could you not?" He hadn't meant to say it so rudely, but it came out. Francis cursed himself a little as Matthew immediately shied away again.

"My mom refused to verse me in magic," he replied after a moment, chewing his lip nervously. "She saw no need for me to learn if I wasn't to become part of 'that world,' as she referred to it. Eventually my dad wanted a divorce. There was a fight for my custody for a little over a year. During that time, I was sent to live with Arthur and his family. Arthur taught me how to use my Sight, showed me simple spells he learned out of books, read and played with me, tried to cook breakfast for me with his mom when I was sick. He even promised to teach me magic when he was old enough to become an initiative. He was practically an older brother to me. I never wanted to leave…"

There was a second of silence that seemed to last a lifetime. Unconsciously, Francis leaned in closer. "What happened?"

Matthew looked up, a truly heartbroken look in his eyes. "My mom won. She had a better income, better housing, made a good case to the jury, all that good stuff, eh? Dad was just a freelance writer then. Still is, though he got a PhD in Comparative Literature a few years back and works at a small college in Ontario. He was allowed custody over the summer months, but I had to live with my mom the rest of the time.

"She obviously didn't like the fact that I was being taught to find my ability. She took away the books Arthur gave me and refused to let me leave the country. I tried to run away once, but only ended up a few miles out half frozen and crying. I never left home again. Eventually I forgot how to use the Sight. Couldn't even sense supernatural occurrences."

"That's horrible." Francis's tone made Matthew's gaze snapped over to him. His face was hard, jaw clenched with fury. "How could she possibly abuse a child like that? What mother would do that?"

"It's not like that," insisted the Canadian, resting a hand on Francis's shoulder. "Honestly. Believe me. She wanted to protect me. She lost both her parents when she was about my age from a demon attack. I know she doesn't want me to lose my life the same way they did. She can't lose anyone else like that. On top of that she was born Mortal, unable to use magic. I bet it hurts her that everyone she cares about has something she never will."

"You realize you've never referred to her as 'Mom' once during this conversation."

"Did I really?" Matthew looked confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Francis relaxed a bit as he began to explain. "I majored in psychology a couple of years back. It helps me when we're on a case. One of the things I remember is emotional detachment. When a person refers to someone they should be close to in third person, it shows that, psychologically, the emotional value they hold for that person is low. At least, it was somewhere along those lines…it's been a while."

"Just how old are you anyway?"

"I am, ah, twenty-six." It was the first time the Frenchman found himself ashamed by his age. "And you? You are in college, _oui_?"

"How did you even know…oh," Matthew trailed off and finished lamely as Francis eyed his oversized bookbag with a 'no shit' sort of look. "Yeah, I'm in college. Freshman year. I'm eighteen now."

_At least that means that we can legally be together, _he thought.

"E-eh?"

Had he just said that out loud? Francis didn't realize he had until Matthew's face lit up brighter than a summer sunset. All he could do was stare back wide-eyed.

"_Mon_ _Dieu_…" This was going worse than any other time he'd hit on someone. Even Arthur, and what a tale that was to tell!

Alfred, meanwhile, had dropped his pace to match Arthur's. The Britain was even more displeased.

"Well, what do you want with me?" he asked, thoroughly annoyed by the long silence that followed. "Would you care for another black eye?"

"Dude, chillax! I'm sorry for that whole café thing, though I wish ya didn't punch me…"

Arthur snorted. "You deserved it."

"C'mon Artie," he whined. "Why do you have to be so mean about it?"

"And what the hell made you think you could give me pet names?" he shouted back, startling a few fat squirrels in a nearby tree. "Can't you honestly leave me alone once in a while?"

"Okay, geez dude, I'm sorry, alright?"

Fuming, Arthur grudgingly accepted his apology. Alfred seemed to relax slightly, before shoving his hands into his bomber jacket's pockets and shivering. "Damn, it's cold! How are you still alive?"

"I have gloves and a scarf. Is that enough of an explanation for you?"

"Fair enough." A few more seconds passed, then Alfred noticed something. "Um, Arthur? Dude, are you limping?"

"No!" said the Britain too quickly. He stumbled into the taller American, backing away as soon as any contact was made. He blushed. Even with magic, Arthur's injuries were slow to heal, and his previously-broken leg throbbed painfully with each second. Instead of admitting to weakness, Arthur started counting doors they passed.

"Alfred?"

"Hm?"

"Can you get Matthew and that frog's attention? We've passed the house."

Alfred looked shocked. "You're kidding! But it's 22097, right?"

"22079, idiot." The remark was frigid as the air.

"I swore it was…aw, screw it!" Alfred hollered at the two in front of them; they were ahead by a good block and were so immersed in conversation that her were practically touching. It made Arthur sick to his stomach. He turned and began to walk back. Yao and Ivan were nowhere to be seen. No doubt the Chinese man had remembered exactly where they were _supposed_ to be, but thanks to that idiot American…

Arthur's usual scowl returned to his face as he walked stiffly, back straight. First Francis, now Alfred. How many other unlikeable people would he have to work with to get back to Britain?

**ヘタリア**

It was another one of the mansions on the street. White, with too many windows to count. Francis went up to the double doors, made for a very solid block of mahogany, and rang the doorbell. The deep, sonorous tone echoed through the silent air.

The door opened almost immediately. Standing in the doorway was a burly Caribbean-looking man. He was wearing, oddly enough, an aloha shirt and cutoff beige shorts with sandals, completely oblivious to the chilly weather outside. His hair was a mess of dreadlocks and pulled back into a tight ponytail. He was a bit on the pudgy side, but obviously strong as an ox. He was tall, tan, and holding a pint of vanilla ice cream, spoon still in his mouth.

"Mr. Rodriguez?" Francis addressed.

"That'd be me," he replied gruffly. "Thank you for coming so promptly Mr…?"

"Bonnefoy, but I'm not the boss."

"I see." Mr. Rodriguez took another scoop of ice cream. "Well the other two got here a bit early. They're looking for evidence now. Please, come in."

As they all stepped into the foyer one by one, Matthew smiled and waved to Mr. Rodriguez, who seemed to recognize him.

"Matthew? You work here?"

"Hi Jose," he said. "Nope, I'm here for a study project about exorcists for school." The lie came smoothly off his tongue. It was half true after all, right? "How's your family?"

Jose hesitated, looking down at his feet. "Well, that exactly why I called. Things haven't been too good."

That was about when he noticed Alfred. The two immediately tensed, glaring at each other. Jose was the first to remark. "Of all the Jones's in the world, it just had to be you running this little company."

Alfred grinned evilly. "Wazzup, Josie? I see you've been keeping up with your whole ice cream diet. Finally caught up to you, huh?"

"Nothing much, Fredericka, except for a pint of Ben and Jerry's now and again. Nice eye, by the way. I see someone finally saw you for the showoff you are. Oh wait, everyone knows that, don't they? At least put you in your place like you deserved when you were a little freshman in high school."

"Smooth," replied the American nonchalantly. "Though I'm surprised you weren't deported back to Cuba."

"Couldn't even if they wanted to. Unlike you, I'm too good at baseball not to get a scholarship. What happened Jones, didn't keep your grades up?"

"If only it was that," he growled, suddenly defensive. "Well, if I'm going to have to deal with you for the next few days, might as well get started. I, unlike you, have a ghost to catch. So, what exactly happened to your mom?"

Jose's snide attitude when away, instantly replaced with a pained expression. "Right, business. I found her two nights ago in the living room, lying on the couch. I thought she was sleeping at first, but when I tried to shake her awake she was as cold as ice. And her expression…that fear…"

The Cuban hesitated for a moment before looking his rival dead in the eye. "I want your help. Please, help me stop the thing that killed my mother."

Alfred's smile was venomously deadly. "You got it bro!"

* * *

_And there you have it. Made-up neighborhood all the way! I apologize for the poor descriptions._

_Our client is Cuba – aka Jose Rodriguez. Beyond stereotypical name, I know, but what can I say? My Spanish is literally nonexistent. I can't even say "I don't speak Spanish" to save my life. Since Canada and Cuba are friends, I tried to make something somewhat believable. That, and Cuba hates America. I'll explain more about that in the next Author's note. _

_I kinda forgot China and Russia were still here. Sorry. They'll be more important later._

_By the way, does anyone know if Canada is taller than France or not? It's been annoying me for some time…_

_Anyhoo, I hope I don't insult too many foreign people through this. Just wanted to introduce another legit Hetalia character (which I obviously don't own…)_

_I'll get to the actual case next week. Adieu~_

_-Sushi_


	11. Case 2 - Part 3

_Hey guys! I guess it's too late to even say Happy Belated Thanksgiving, but I just want to say how grateful I am for **Gilaremo, Zemmno, whereami2012, Kleptogirl, **and **Akakata7 **for their support of my endeavors in this story (i.e. thanks for following ^^). And thanks to all the others who happen to stumble across this FanFic and read it up till now._

_Righto, this is the next installment. The case is briefly explained towards the end of the chapter. Aside from that, it's been a lot of character dialogue and the likes. As always, sorry for the late update. Life's been rough and I wanted to keep some quality to my work, so I didn't finish editing this chapter for a long while._

_By the by, I dropped the rating as of today to T for the lack of M-rated things…for now…_

* * *

**Chapter 11 – The New England Housewife: Part 3**

Arthur was seated on a white couch in one of the impossibly large rooms in the impossibly large mansion, barefoot, feet tangled into one of the stringy rugs on the floor. Alfred was slumped at his feet, intently concentrating on a round of Temple Run while holding a bag of frozen peas over his black eye – an extremely interesting sight considering he still had his glasses on. He cursed when he died and slumped down even further, shutting off his iPod and tossing in on the rug next to him.

"Shite!" Arthur swore angrily a moment later.

"Still nothing?" asked Alfred, looking up from his socks with faint interest.

"I haven't got a single lead in this whole damn state! Not even a single supernatural event that could possibly be behind this."

The American sat up. "Well, what've you tried?"

Arthur remained impassive, but opened up with a sigh. "I looked into similar cases – ghost activity with complete freezing of the victim. When that didn't work, I looked into recent family deaths. Nothing came up, so I tried deaths in the area. Not a single person has been killed within a five-mile radius for the last thirty days."

"Why thirty days?"

"It's the usual time it takes for a soul to become a ghost capable of killing. I take it you didn't know, did you?" When Alfred shook his head, Arthur just nodded. "I figured. Anyway, I continued by looking into a search to reported missing and murdered people in the area in the last twenty-five years."

"Lemme guess, zip."

The Britain nodded and raked a hand through his unruly hair. "God, what should I do?"

"Why don't you ask Francis for help?" Arthur's black glare caused Alfred to laugh. "I'm serious. He had your job before you came. Maybe he'll think of something else."

"Right, because I'm not competent enough for my job!"

"It's not that. Look!" The American spun around so he was sitting cross-legged in front of Arthur. "I don't doubt you. It isn't anything about that, okay? It's just that you've been under a lot of stress lately. I heard something about not calling your father, your injuries not healing, and now this whole spiel with your, no…our, cousin."

"Matthew."

"Yeah, Mattie. Look, you're probably pissed about him and Francis getting along, but let them be. They're getting friendly. So what? Francis is a good guy, at least now. I don't know what's going on between you two, but I say let that go and give Matthew a chance to find our French friend in his own way. He's got his own opinion too. He's not a kid. Let 'im be, 'kay?"

"Right, got it."

"Good." The taller blond searched the rug for his electronic device. "Now either work or find Francis. That's an order from your boss."

Arthur rolled his eyes. He typed on the laptop for a few seconds before stopping, fingers hovering silently over the keys. "Wait, listen."

Alfred looked up from the floor to see his coworker's embarrassed face. "What's up?"

"I'm sorry. About your eye, I mean." Arthur looked away, blushing scarlet.

Alfred grinned. "No prob. But don't do it again. I like seeing. You have no idea how hard it is to try and play a game with only one eye."

Arthur kicked Alfred in the back of the head, but more in a playful manner than harmful. The American smiled and turned his iPod back on, starting on a new game of Fruit Ninja.

**ヘタリア**

Matthew sidled into the room quietly, almost to the point where Francis didn't notice him. He did when the door creaked shut. "_Je peux vous aider, Matthieu?"_

"_Non. Avez-vous besoin un chocolat chaud_?"

"_Pourquoi_ _pas_?" He accepted the hot chocolate. "Is this from our client?"

"Yes." The Canadian sat down on the white couch next to Francis. "What are you doing now?"

Francis leaned away from the computer and sighed. It wasn't going well for him either. "Well, I'm trying to cross-reference the latest incident with any local deaths that could have a tie to this house."

"I heard Arthur grumbling about it. Didn't he just do that?"

"He did, but I like to see things with my own eyes. Besides, there's always the chance that he's purposely leaving out information to mess me up. It seems that he hasn't, though. There have been no local deaths in the last twelve years. Nothing has come up when searching relations to the home or the area in the last fifty years."

"What about related incidents?" When he was given a blank expression, Matthew continued, "I mean, it's possible that this ghost could've done something similar in another area, eh?"

Francis nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, it is possible, though the chances are rare…"

"Why rare?"

"Usually a ghost will haunt one specific area. Based on its power and the surrounding areas, this area could be rather large, such as several city blocks or a whole mansion. There have even been a few cases of the aid of some other supernatural creature, like a witch or a demon. It's highly unlikely that a ghost will move around and target various areas, let alone being able to do it. Still, we have no where else to go. I'll give it a try."

After a moment of silence Matthew asked, "Are you and Arthur friends?"

"I wouldn't say friends without caution," Francis replied mildly, "but in a sense, yes. And then again, not really. It's complicated. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know, but it seems like you two have some sort of unresolved conflict around each other. That, and I don't know anything about what he was like for the last ten years."

"I would guess so. You know, Alfred asked me the same question a couple of months back."

"Did he really?"

"_Oui_. I didn't really tell him much else though, but you're Arthur's cousin so I feel you have some right to know. _Alors_, Arthur and I were friends from high school. I moved to London when I was fifteen, attended the same private school he did. We had similar interests, hit off well, and suddenly he went home and I never spoke to him again. When he came to the agency – what, about half a year now? – I can honestly say I was surprised to see him. He didn't seem too pleased by it. We didn't exactly leave on the best of terms then."

"What was Arthur like then? I haven't spoken to him since I was eight, so…"

"He's nothing like he is now, I can say that. He was…a bit of a rebel. Actually, that might be a bit of an under exaggeration. I'm not sure if I'm the one to tell you…"

"Tell him what, frog?" Neither of them had realized Arthur had entered the room until he was leaning over them on the couch. Realizing also the lack of space between them, Francis and Matthew scooted away from each other at approximately the same time.

The Britain couldn't help but scoff a bit inside at their awkwardness. "Look, exchange numbers and stop acting like a bloody couple. Frog, Ivan will need your help to fabricate some police ID's so they can give us access to the body. On top of that, Yao's found some evidence."

**ヘタリア**

"Strange…" murmured Yao under his breath, staring at the now-vacant couch that Mrs. Rodriguez's body had been discovered. "This makes no sense…"

"I'm sorry," Matthew said, "but what's so strange?"

"This." Yao handed the other a pair of glasses. When Matthew gave him a skeptical look, he explained, "They'll help you see ectoplasm. One of my old friends gave this agency a few extra pairs. Try them out if you don't believe me."

The Canadian took the glasses and put them on. As his eyes adjusted to the new colors, Matthew gasped.

"You saw?"

Matthew nodded dumbfounded and stared at the floor. "Are those…?"

"Footprints? _Oui_." Francis took of his pair of glasses and handed them back to Yao. "He's right. That is strange."

"How?"

"Think about it," Arthur responded. "Why would a ghost do this? They normally can't leave behind physical evidence unless they purposely leave it. So I ask, why leave any evidence, especially something as obvious as a footprint?"

"Could it be to make a point?" asked Matthew, though even he seemed skeptical.

Alfred shrugged. "I doubt it. More like a show of power than a point, don'tcha think?"

"Why power?"

"Let's treat this like any old serial killer, 'kay? From what I've gathered about them, they secretly want to be caught. It's part of their nature to have another thrill, to be chased while they're in action. They wanna display their stronger and more organized than the people trying to catch them. If this ghost is a serial killer like my gut's telling me we've gotta be on high alert. The point is that if its killing, it'll kill again."

"How in the world did you know that?" Arthur asked. "I doubt you're an expert in criminal psychology."

"Hey, I've watched Criminal Minds! Gimme some credit!"

"Credit, maybe, if you had credentials." Everyone turned to stare as the Cuban walked in. "Look, let's forget about high school for a second and talk about the real deal. You own an agency that I heard exorcises ghosts. I don't know whether the ghost is still in this house or not, but I wanna make sure that no harm comes to anyone else because of it."

Alfred nodded solemnly. "I get it. I've got no special degrees or fancy papers saying I'm good at what I do, but I know I need to figure out what happened before your mom was killed. So I'll start with a classic: what were you doing the night she was killed?"

Jose thought for a moment. "I had gone to the bar with some friends from school. Illegal IDs and whatnot. We got drunk, and I crashed at one of their homes. Got a taxi the next morning and went to my morning classes. Didn't come home 'til late. When I did, there she was. The house was like an icebox – I though the heat had broken. Then, there she was…frozen solid…"

Yao quickly scribbled down notes before piping up. "Can you tell us what happened the last time you spoke with your mom?"

"We fought." It took Jose a long moment to continue. He looked ready to cry. "It was over stupid things like grades and girls and my eating habits. It got worse than usual and in the end I walked out. She tried to call me when I was at the bar, but I refused to answer my phone. God, if only I'd apologized…"

"I know this is hard," Yao said softly. "I lost my parents too, a long time ago. I just need to know around what time she called you."

"I dunno, close to eleven, maybe?"

"So later than usual?"

"Definitely."

Ivan entered the room then, wearing a black suit and black tie. He was smiling, as usual, and carried a briefcase. His gaze fell on Yao. "Ready?"

"Almost, give me a few moments."

"Okay!"

Alfred blinked. "What the hell is going on, a date?"

"No!" Yao burst out. His eyes met Ivan's for a second, then turned bright red and coughed. "Ivan and I were going to investigate the body. We'd record any unusual injuries and come back if we've found anything. I figured you would allow us to go. Francis already gave us the paperwork. Why, is that a problem?"

"Hell yeah it is!" The American pointed. "Look, even with fake IDs there's no way the police'll give you access to the body without some questioning. Remember Alaska?"

Francis snorted. "That was completely your fault, Alfred. My IDs were flawless; that's one of the reasons I was hired, remember? You were the one who forgot your temporary name which got us into a whole mess of trouble."

Alfred looked pretty embarrassed, but continued, "I think there's only one way to get in and that's with Jose."

The whole party stared at the Cuban who seemed unsure how to react. He frowned and asked, "Why me?"

"Simple. You're the victim's son. It only makes sense you would want to see her."

Arthur seemed horrified by the idea. "No it wouldn't, you insensitive American! I should think most people wouldn't want to visit a body that was once alive. Especially of someone close to them. Honestly, haven't you any brains in that oversized head of yours?"

"I'm not a fathead!" he wined. "And no, it was just a suggestion. I'm not saying he has to go."

"I'll go," Jose interrupted before the two began a new argument. "Seriously, if it'll help, I'll go."

Alfred grinned. "Cool! Jose, I want you to go with Ivan and Francis. Francis, try to find any significant memories attached to the body. Hopefully they'll give us some clues. Ivan, you know what to do. Record any injuries. Yao'll give you a call later. Everyone else, we're searching rooms for any clues. This house is way too big to install any useful amount of video cameras, so we'll have to rely on our senses, 'kay? Alrighty team, the hero commands you to move out!"

**ヘタリア**

Ivan answered his phone on the first ring. "_Da_?"

"Ivan, it's me."

"Hello Yao! What is it?"

"I need to know what you found out about the body. Hold up, I'm putting you on speaker." After a couple of seconds Yao replied in a slightly tinnier voice, "Okay, go ahead."

"Well, it's hard to put a time of death on the remains, considering they're completely frozen, but I'd say between one and three in the morning two days ago. There are no signs of injections or any weapons. No toxins were in her system except for a safe dose of sleeping aids."

"She took them whenever there was a lot of stuff stressing her out," Jose explained on the line.

"That wasn't what killed her." It was Francis this time. "I didn't find any memories, but I checked the body for ectoplasmic readings. Ends up she was held down by the wrists. Extremely small marks, though very extensive bruising. My guess is that she was held down until her body froze over. That, and the murderer is a female."

"Why female?" Even Matthew seemed surprised he asked the question.

"The pattern on the wrist matched perfectly to those of an average female. Slim fingers, but fully developed. No signs of shaking or readjusting, so she was young and very strong. Probably had a job that required some form of holding or carrying heavy items."

Alfred thought. "So, like a factory worker?"

Ivan replied, "That would be my best guess too. I'll call back if I find anything else."

"Right, thank you Ivan, Francis."

After they hung up, Alfred smiled. "Told ya, serial killer. I totally called it! My gut never lies."

"We don't even know for sure yet!" Arthur exclaimed. "For all we could know, this was a first kill."

"'First kill,' as in the first of more. See, you agree with me Artie!"

"My. Name. Is. Not. Artie," he growled through clenched teeth. "And I never agreed with you."

The American just laughed his annoying laugh and pointed to his stomach. "Never lies. And you didn't exactly disagree either. And my gut's telling me I could really use some food right about now."

"Please take your problems elsewhere," Yao sighed before leaving the room.

Arthur grumbled something under his breath, but texted Francis to bring something to eat when they came back.

**ヘタリア**

Dinner was an awkward occasion. With there being no one else in the house but Jose they ordered burritos from a nearby taco joint – by nearby, it was within a few miles and not a far drive for the Cuban who knew the owners and ordered via mobile phone. The party sat in a pell-mell array on the main stairs as to avoid getting the carpet dirty. Francis and Matthew were side-by-side talking, Arthur uncomfortably sitting a few steps above them in between Jose and Alfred who were glaring at each other over their food. Ivan and Yao sat a safe distance from the others in an equally uncomfortable situation, neither of them looking at each other and sitting a few feet apart without a word of conversation.

Finally, Jose asked Matthew, "How've you been? We haven't spoken for a couple of years."

"I'm fine, thanks." Matthew finished his bite of burrito. "How's college?"

"It sucks. Really, it's just a small one so it's not like anyone's heard of it. And their baseball team is really awful, but I got there on a full ride anyway so it was hard to turn it down."

The Canadian looked up. "Even with this much money?"

"Yeah. It looks like my dad's business is about to go under anyway. He was telling me last week that we shouldn't've left Cuba, but it's too late for that."

"Where is your dad? I haven't seen him yet."

"He went on a business trip, but he's coming back early after I called him about Mom. He's probably in a hotel downtown right now," Jose explained.

"I see."

"So how do you two know each other?" asked Francis.

"We were pen pals," said Matthew. "Because he was moving to the US and didn't have much knowledge in English he went on an online site where you could talk with people around the world. I just moved in with Alfred for a year so I was a freshman in high school. Jose and Alfred were sophomores."

Jose continued, "Basically, we met online and found out we were going to the same school after a summer of talking. Been pretty good friends ever since. Got him mixed up with this idiot here-" he pointed to Alfred "—all the time, so it wasn't pretty."

Matthew laughed. "I remember that! Alfred played a prank on you during the baseball season that got you suspended for three games, until they found out it was him!"

"And boy, he was in so much trouble!"

"Alfred really can be stupid sometimes, eh?"

'I was thinking along the lines of all the time…"

"I'm sitting right here, you know…" Alfred whispered.

"And no one cared, Fredericka," replied Jose coolly. "I suggest you pipe down before I knock over your boyfriend here and gut you clean."

"He's not my boyfriend!" Alfred and Arthur shouted at the same time. It only caused the Cuban to raise his eyebrows.

"I would never date this…this _glutton_ in my right mind-"

"I'm not gay!"

"—and I would most certainly not want to be associated with him for a lifetime-"

"I'm not! For real!"

"—because he has every fault I wouldn't want to be around!"

"Why would I go out with another _man_? Emphasis on 'man' here, 'kay?"

Jose just shook his head and held is hands up in surrender. "Sure, whatever."

The rest of the meal passed in (if possible) an even more uncomfortable silence. It was only broken when Jose offered to take all the empty burrito wrappers to the trash.

"It's getting late," he mumbled. "The whole third floor is guest bedrooms. I know you've got a hotel in Boston, but you can stay here and avoid the commute, if you want."

Matthew left to help Jose clean up while the rest of the party headed upstairs. Everyone, that was, except for Francis. Arthur noticed him waiting for the Canadian; something about that really pissed him off.

He tapped on the other's shoulder. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

Francis shrugged. "Go on."

"Don't you think," Arthur started after a moment, "that it's a bit strange that a person of your age is going on with a person of Matthew's age?"

"I don't think I understand."

"No," the shorter blond interjected, "I think you know perfectly well what I mean."

Francis sighed. "I am not hitting on him, it that's what you're implying."

"I'm concerned for his safety, is all."

"I get it. You don't want the same thing that happened to you happen to him."

"This has nothing to do with me, or you!"

"It has everything to do with us!" cried the Frenchman, exasperated. "Look, _mon ami_, we can get over what happened. We were young then. We hardly knew what we were doing and neither of us were in a sound state of mind then anyway."

"Matthew's the same age you were," Arthur said. "What happened then can easily repeat itself."

"So you still haven't forgiven me?"

"Stop evading the subject! I already said this has nothing to do with us!"

"Arthur, please. You're just upset because-"

"Do you take me for a fool? Do you really think I didn't notice every moment you two blushed and looked away or moved away from each other whenever someone else enters the room? Well?" The Britain glared, his eyes glinting sharply like two pieces of flint. "You've known him for less than a day and already you're acting like a couple of high school crushed."

"We're just friends," the other blond retorted. "Besides, I've learned so much about him already."

"You know nothing about him!"

"Oh really?"

That expression of pure pompousness made Arthur hesitate. Francis smirked.

"Well, I don't know that much, but I can say without a doubt that _Matthieu_ is eighteen, he's attending a very good university in Canada and majoring in natural sciences. He lives with his mother because his parents got divorced over lifestyle differences when he was seven, thus he lived with you for a year until the court made a decision on custody rights. He has some sort of ability, but no one knows what, including himself, though he wants to learn to become versed in magic. He once had the Sight, but was lost to him after leaving your home.

"He also plays hockey at his college, which earned him some scholarships, will eat maple syrup on or in anything including his coffee, and is learning French as a second language at school. His favorite color is red and his favorite animal is the polar bear. He likes sports, singing, and geography. He's been nearsighted since he was six, has never dated, and wants to learn to play an instrument. Now, _mon_ _ami_, tell me I don't know anything about him." After a moment of silence from the other, Francis added, "I could continue if you'd like."

"No, that won't be necessary." Arthur sighed a bit. "Maybe I should listen to what Alfred said about you two…"

That humored the Frenchman to no end. "You're taking advice from _him_? I thought you hated our dear friend!"

"Oh shut it and go take your beauty rest!" he shouted before adding, "Bloody wanker."

"I heard that," the other replied. "But that doesn't matter. _Bonne_ _nuit_, Arthur."

"Cut the French crap, please." But they both shared a rare smile.

Right then, Matthew walked in with Jose, the two in an obviously friendly conversation. They stopped when they saw the other two men standing at the bottom of the stairs. The Canadian stopped. "Were you waiting for me?"

Francis nodded and smiled.

"That's so sweet…"

Arthur frowned and coughed, causing his cousin to blush. "Get a room," he growled under his breath.

"Don't mind if I do," Francis whispered into his ear.

The Britain's eyes narrowed. "Never say that again."

Francis laughed. "It was just a joke. Not to your taste, I'm afraid."

They chose to ignore each other as they walked a very confused Matthew upstairs. Jose just watched them go, smiling a bit before retiring for the evening as well.

**ヘタリア**

_She glided slowly, feet never touching the ground. It was dark for a second as she passed through the wall, but it wasn't for long. Before her was a light from the lanterns that were attached to the ceiling. She never understood how they worked without tinder or gas, but that wasn't important. What was important was the mission._

_The man in the room was asleep. He was darker than a whiteman, but not as dark as an African. She didn't know where he was from. She didn't care. What was important was the mission._

_God had given her a second chance in life, gifted her with the shroud of angels and the silence of the night itself. She had no desire or need to eat or rest. That was good, for now she had overcome two of the deadly sins in this new, God-given life. _

_What was important was the mission. She would eradicate all the sin in the world, the sin that parents and children shared. She would cleanse them. But if they held onto their sin, they would face the wrath of the seventh level of Hell. _

_She reached for the bronze man's wrists, whispering, "May the good Lord help you…"_

Matthew woke up with a jerk. He sat up, wide eyed and shocked stiff. A dream. The first time he had a dream like that for ten years. Matthew sat up in shock, putting his glasses on and turning on the lamp by the bed. Could it be a sign, like the other? And of what?

He thought about what he saw for a moment before bolting out of bed. He headed straight to the room Arthur was staying in and entered. Thankfully, the Britain was half-awake reading a book that was written in Gaelic or Welsh. The older blond looked up in surprise.

"Good heavens Matthew, what on earth are you doing up at this hour."

"It came back," he gushed out frantically. "The dreams, the ones I said I wasn't having anymore. Just now, I had another one."

Arthur immediately set his book down, wide awake. "Tell me everything."

Matthew thought back to what he'd seen. He remembered the entire thing in perfect detail, but it had been so long since he'd had to put it in words. "I think I saw the ghost that was here, the one who killed Jose's mother. She looked like a colonist – what is it, a pilgrim? She was wearing a plain brown dress with a white apron and a matching cap so all of her hair was hidden."

"What else?" Arthur leaned forward in the armchair. His eyes glimmered with anticipation, impressive eyebrows knitting together.

The Canadian hesitated, the swallowed the lump in his throat and whispered, "And she just killed another person. I think…I think it was Jose's dad."

Arthur was about to say something when Francis (of all people) flung the door open, clad only in a very loosely tied dark blue silk bathrobe. The Britain scowled. "Must you always dress so indecently to bed? Well, what is it now that you've got to say to interrupt my evening?"

Ignoring the other blonde's snide remark, Francis grabbed Matthew's arms and smiled. He looked extremely excited.

"_Mon cher_, you are a genius!"

"I…am?" asked a very confused Canadian. He looked to Arthur for help as to how to interpret the situation, but the Britain shrugged as if to say '_How am I supposed to understand him_?'

"_Mais oui_! Don't you see?"

"Um…no?"

"You were right!" he gushed. "The search you said earlier, about similar activities and related cases in other areas, it was true. I just got a hit on the computer! Come quick!" And with that, the Frenchman dashed out of the room with his robe flying behind him like a swirl of dancing water.

"Should we go?" Matthew asked after a few silent moments.

Arthur sighed and stood up, nodding. "Why not? The stupid frog's probably gone and woken everyone up already."

The two left the room together in silence, taking one of the numerous back staircases to the living room. Matthew trailed behind, thinking. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think it's another case? I mean, do you think it'll be the same as this one?"

"God, I hope not." He sighed again. "If it is, then we've got a wide-range killer on the loose. They're probably the most dangerous ghosts one could ever come in contact with. These ghosts are the hardest to work with – most of the times they're either held in control by a demon or they have completely lost the humanity in their soul. Based on what you dreamed, I'm hoping the latter. If this ghost is from the colonial period it's most likely she's had some experience before."

They reached the bottom of the stairs, halting all conversation. A faint light from a computer screen blinked out at them. As Arthur had suspected, everyone was up and (surprisingly) awake enough to look generally concerned. Alfred was the first to notice their arrival; he turned and motioned over hurriedly.

"You're gonna wanna see this," he whispered. "We've got more than one hit."

The Britain frowned and walked over to where his boss was seated. "How many more than one? Two? Three? Ten, even?"

Alfred rubbed his good eye blearily, looking more exhausted than usual. "Try fifty-seven."

* * *

_And there you have it. I finally finished. Thank the gods for that. That, and my first swim meet was yesterday. Now it's over, thank goodness. No more stress until the next one tomorrow. I'm totally beyond exhausted…_

_This time, I'm on a roll (hopefully). It's highly likely this case will end in the next part. I've already started bits and pieces of Case #3 so it should be up sooner than I've been working on this. Thanks for reading, and stay beautiful!_

_-Sushi_


	12. Case 2 - Part 4

_Hey guys! I've finally finished this chapter! Joy! And the world didn't end. Added bonus! And it's Christmas Eve! Yippee!_

_Come to think of it, this case didn't end in this part like I thought it would. But never fear, it's gonna be over soon whether you like it or not! And there'll be a transition to the next case, which I've started. The plot's still rough with Case #3, but it's getting there. _

_Apologies once again for my long exodus with the last chapter (a month!); life's busy, etc. etc._

* * *

**Chapter 12 – Case #2 – The New England Housewife: Part 4**

"Fifty-seven!" exclaimed the smaller blond. Alfred grimaced as Arthur's emerald eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"Look if you don't believe me," grumbled the American, pointing to the screen.

Everyone sat on and around the couch. Yao was in the middle with his hair down the laptop balanced on his knees, Ivan standing behind him and playing with a lock the prior's long chestnut hair. Francis sat to Yao's right with crossed legs, Alfred on the couch's arm to his left.

Arthur walked swiftly over to the laptop, looking over Yao's shoulder with a hand on Alfred's back. He stared for a long moment, then rounded on Francis. "I though you said you got _a_ hit, as in _one_. Not fifty-seven."

The Frenchman shrugged. "When I first checked there was only one. I went to get everyone. The next thing I knew, the computer started showing new results again and again. It just stopped when you and _Mathieu_ came."

"How did this ghost go fifty-seven murders without being caught?" asked Matthew, trying to relieve the tension. "The origin wasn't…demonic, eh?"

"That, no one is sure about," said Yao. "These cases have been going on since the mid-1700's, beginning with the talk of witchcraft in New England. Not Salem, but still within fifty miles from there near Portsmouth, New Hampshire. The cases probably weren't linked because none were within two years of one another and the locations were completely random. One would suspect a demonic origin, but that can't be. That would usually include eating, poisoning, or burning of the remains

"Still, the results have been the same for each hit, so we can't deny their connection. First, a mother goes. Then a father. The last person killed before the trail goes dead again is a child of the victims. If there are siblings, the oldest has been dead. At least, that's what I've found so far."

Matthew gasped. "Are you saying that if this ghost isn't stopped Jose's going to be dead too?"

"More or less," replied Yao grimly.

"Should we tell him?" asked Alfred. "Or would it be in the best interest of both parties to not tell and leave this as a reason to hurry the hell up? Those in favor of telling, raise your hands."

The split was almost immediate. Alfred and Yao sided for telling, Ivan clearly for concealing the information, the rest hesitant to take either side. Alfred sighed and put his hand down. "'Kay, I guess that didn't really work."

"I don't think there's a reason to cause more anxiety than necessary," Francis said. "If we tell our client of the outcome, he'll most certainly take it in a way that I doubt we'll all agree with. Why don't we keep quiet and continue our work. This agency has never failed."

"The agency is also young," noted Arthur. "Two years at most, with little more than four or five major cases, as my father so kindly informed me. With such a dangerous task, would it be beneficial to conceal any information? Perhaps we should send for some more trained officials in this investigation?"

The American sighed. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but we're the best in the country."

"Surely there's someone else. Not doubting your position, but we can't possibly run on so little."

"There is Alfred's dad, _da_?" Ivan said.

Alfred's voice growled in a feral manner. "I refuse to crawl to that man for help, and you know that."

"International, then," piped in Yao quickly.

Francis shook his head. "No, it'll take too long to get any of their equipment through customs without questioning if they don't get consent from the government. Which we know probably won't happen. Why don't we focus more on what we can do here and now. We should probably find Mr. Rodriguez before anything happens to him and take him to a safer location where we can keep tabs in case the ghost comes back."

"I think we're too late."

Everyone turned to look at Matthew. He was still in the doorway, shaded by the darkness. He stepped forward so the others could see him. "No, I know it's too late."

"How?" asked Alfred.

"He just had a dream," Arthur explained. "When Matthew was younger and living with me, he used to have dreams, visions really, about ghosts. We were never sure exactly what his ability meant. He wasn't a Seer for there was no foresight involved. All the events were in the past or the present. There were even a few cases where physical evidence was left on Matthew when he was targeted in a vision."

"I didn't know you could do that!" Alfred grabbed his cousin by the shoulders, excited. "Why didn't ya tell me Mattie? That's too cool!"

"'Cause I haven't had a dream since leaving London, Freddie. I thought I lost my ability until tonight."

"What do you mean it's too late for Mr. Rodriguez?" Francis asked. "What did you see?"

"He's been killed," Matthew whispered. "Just now, by the ghost. She was babbling about a mission, something given to her by God. That can't be right, eh?"

"The God part, no. The part about the thought of a mission, highly likely." Yao shook his head with worry, freeing his hair of Ivan's attention. "This could be pretty dangerous. If this ghost is trapped in a delusion there's little to no chance that she can be exorcised in a peaceful manner. She'll probably resist any chance of normal communication and speak in codes we won't understand. And if we can stop her in time without any injury, that'll be from the help of dumb luck and sheer good fate."

Francis sighed. "She's not connected to the area and didn't leave any memory traces on the body of Mrs. Rodriguez, so I'm not much help for this."

"It's not like I've ever done anything anyway…" Alfred added sheepishly. "Guess this'll be all up to Artie here!"

The Britain huffed indignantly. "Why me? And don't call me Artie! I have a name, you know."

"Sorry dude," he said. "Anyway, you've got your magic. Surely you could do something about this ghost?"

"Like what?"

"I dunno, track her or something? Put a defensive shield around Jose, maybe?"

"If only I could, but at this point I physically can't. I'm completely drained." When Alfred gave him his trademark confused expression, Arthur sighed. "Figured you didn't know. Magic is, essentially, part of me. Based on my own physical, mental, and spiritual health it strengthens and weakens. The more magic I use, the less I have until it regenerates."

"So you're basically tryin' to tell me that…"

"I'm running on literally nothing right now. The best I can do would be a tracking spell or an extremely weak shield that the ghost would have no problem in breaking through."

Alfred thought for a bit. "How come you haven't regenerated you magic yet? It's been weeks since Korea!"

"Remember the injuries I sustained?" he asked. "Remember how long I was in the hospital even with my healing? Remember how people brought in trees and I kept killing them?"

"Well…yeah."

"As you can probably tell, not all my scars have completely healed over yet, and my leg still pains me where it was broken. What little magic I had and still have is working to have me entirely healed. It's automatic, so I can't exactly stop it. On top of that, the process of magical regeneration takes a ridiculously long time. Even if I was in prime health it would take at least a month for all of it to recover."

"Isn't there a way to speed it up?" the American asked.

"Yes, but it's hardly convenient. It would require me to go to some dense, ancient woods. Trees," he explained, "hold the most valuable and powerful magic – life. The older they are, the more they contain. I'd have to go there for a few days at least to replenish. Who knows what could happen by then."

"I think," Ivan interrupted, "that out focus should be on locating Mr. Rodriguez's remains, if he is indeed dead. The sooner we get there, the more potential evidence we could find. Maybe Francis can find a memory this time."

"Highly unlikely, but I'll give it a try," replied Francis.

"And I can continue trying to find connections in the cases," Yao said. He shrugged. "It's your call, Alfred."

The American sat brooding for a long moment, his good eye closed, knees pulled up to his chest and one hand resting under his chin. In the computer light, he looked almost surreal. Finally, he opened his eyes and nodded. "Alright. We'll keep the information under this case from this night on as classified. I don't wanna hear any discussion or the likes, 'kay? Next, everyone stays near or in this house. I don't want anyone alone at any given time either, so buddy up.

"Ivan, I want you and Francis to check out the body. Jose said something about his dad being in the city, so start finding this info. First thing in the morning, if possible, but not yet. That she-spirit could be wandering around and I don't want a single casualty. Yao, keep looking through the case files. Find any connections you can. If you must, go to the headquarters in DC and search there. If anyone there gives you crap, they can answer to me for it. Artie-I'msorryImeant-Arthur, stay with Mattie. And please explain this whole dream thing with me. Later though, I need some rest.

"We good?"

"I wish I could, but I have to leave tomorrow morning," said Matthew.

Alfred blinked. He clearly wasn't expecting that. "Wait, why?"

"I came to Boston on a study trip. There's one last pod of whales moving through the area, and I'm majoring in marine biology. My group is heading out tomorrow to record their migration habits. The university's been following this mother and calf for most of the year, and I've been given a grant to work with the upper classmen."

Alfred nodded, clearly without an ounce of interest. "That's…cool?"

"I know, eh?" Matthew seemed oblivious of his cousin's lack of enthusiasm. "I can probably get the evening off, and I'll text if anything comes up. I'll just need your number."

"Right, here."

Matthew typed his number into Alfred's phone and handed it back. The American nodded and dismissed everyone. Yao tied his hair back and continued to work on the computer, Ivan watching. Arthur went to find the other computer so he and Francis could find the hotels. Matthew bid everyone goodnight and went to bed.

Alfred pulled Francis aside before he went up with the Canadian.

"I have two questions to ask you."

"Go on," the Frenchman replied.

"How's our security in this house look like? In all honesty."

"In all honesty," he said, "the situation is very bleak. We didn't have the funds of equipment to camera and thermometer the whole house. I isolated important rooms and set up there. All the bedrooms, the living room and kitchen, the sitting room, and the computer area. There are temperature sensors in each room, but how effective they'll be I do not know."

Alfred nodded slowly. "You're right, that is bleak."

"Unfortunately. Sorry I couldn't give you a better answer."

"No, don't be." Pondering for a moment, the American suddenly asked, "Are you coming on to Mattie?"

"Was that your second question?" said Francis, startled.

"No! Well, not really, but that's not the point. I was just, ya know, wondering."

Even Francis seemed unsure how to react. He thought for a few moments, then said, "I really am not sure. There is something about his presence that I could be attracted to, but whether it's romantic or not I have no idea. Still, I do enjoy his company. He is bright, shy, intelligent, and has his own wry sense of humor that I have found quite…different. In a good way, that is."

"Oh, okay." Alfred shrugged casually. "I don't think I've ever heard you being uncertain about romance."

"Neither have I!" he said with a laugh. "Well, there must be a first for everything. _Bonne nuit_."

And with that, the Frenchman left to bed. Alfred stood confused for a second, and then shook his head and went to finish his work.

**ヘタリア**

"I'm sure you understand _madame_. This isn't the greatest news to break, but I fear it's something I must do."

"Why of course. Here is the spare key."

"_Merci, madame_."

It was almost impossible to convince the lady at the front desk to let them through. Though Ivan didn't care, it was still tedious. Thankfully, Francis had all the IDs and fake stories up his sleeve. As of today, both he and the Russian were police officers telling Mr. Rodriguez that his son had ran away from home. The credibility of the story was shady, but Francis was the master of persuasion and the receptionist hadn't asked a single question. She offered to take them up to the room, though.

Francis accepted. "If she comes with us, she won't have any reason to distrust us if we are to find a body."

Ivan grudgingly agreed.

The elevator ride to the fifth floor was a short one. Ivan got out first and walked up to the door. He knocked for safe measures, then again. He even rang the doorbell. Nothing.

"Maybe he isn't in?" the receptionist suggested, but even she seemed doubtful.

Ivan ignored her and took the spare keycard. It slid in and clicked without a hitch. As the door began to open, Francis knew immediately that something was wrong. The air was cold, colder than any man would feel comfortable in. His breath fogged before his eyes for a moment, vanishing with the darkness.

"Mr. Rodriguez?" Ivan said. "Sir, are you in?"

There was no reply. Somehow Francis had expected that. He flicked the light switch by the door on and Ivan opened the door the rest of the way.

The woman behind them gasped, unable to tear her eyes away.

The windows were covered in a thick layer of frost, so thick that no light passed through them. The thermostat was obviously broken; it read 70 degrees. It seemed as though Mr. Rodriguez had been going through business papers before he was killed. They were strewn all across the floor by his left hand. And he was seated on the bed, eyes wide and fearful, body frozen over and almost blue.

"_Mon Dieu_," whispered Francis. "How could this be?"

Ivan made haste to get rid of the desk lady. "Please call this number on my phone. It will link you to our boss. Tell him that something has happened and that he should call Francis right away. Can you do that?"

She nodded.

"Good. Now, please leave. We must make a crime scene investigation."

She left without a word. Francis smirked. "Wasn't that a bit suspicious. Why not call the police instead of a secret number on your phone?"

"She's in shock. Hopefully logical thinking won't be back for some time."

Francis nodded and stepped into the room. It was colder than he thought, his breath forming a heavy cloud in front of him. He took out a pocket-sized tape recorder from his pocket and began making observations.

"Mr. Rodriguez is dead as Matthew thought. We, Francis and Ivan, are here to confirm this." He looked around slowly. "Vicinity appears to be without signs of a break in or assault. The only damage done was some papers dropped by Mr. Rodriguez, probably during the attack. Temperature is well below freezing, though the thermostat is lying to us.

"Victim," he grunted while turning over the body, "was dressed for bed. Paper is around, and a pen, and a laptop that is dead. Suggests that the victim was working on business related work when he was killed. Markings along the throat indicate he was strangled, just as the others were. Unlike the others, though, his wasn't held down. No bruising on his wrists."

He gave the tape recorder to Ivan, who had already donned his special glasses. "There are several footprints around the bed. Six, to be exact, same as the last body. Strange…

"Unlikely to place an exact time of death because the victim is frozen, but if Matthew was right, I would say around 1 in the morning like Mrs. Rodriguez."

"Um…"

Francis turned around as Ivan continued to examine the remains. The woman at the front desk was back, knocking lightly on the doorframe. Her eyes were still wide as they stared at the body.

The Frenchman took some pity on her – an innocent civilian who probably never saw a dead body before – as he walked over, using his long coat as a shield. "_Oiu, madame_?"

"I just wanted to say I made the phone call. Your boss said he's going to send someone over to collect…the man."

"_Merci_." Francis placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Please feel free to wait elsewhere."

She nodded and left. Ivan raised an eyebrow at his colleague, but said nothing. Human interactions were Francis's specialty, not his. Best leave these things to experts. He, now he had a dead body to deal with. His specialty.

.**ヘタリア**

"I think I found something!" Yao cried. He leapt out of the seat and waved his notepad excitedly in the air.

Alfred dashed over, recently devoured Cup Noodles (for he had three) forgotten. "What is it? Good or bad?"

"It's not exactly good, but it'll help us with a timeline." The Chinese man set out a sheet of paper with notes crammed onto both sides. "The time frame for each murder is only six days. Two days after a mother is killed, a father is killed. Give this ghost another three and the child is killed."

"So we've only got two more days before Jose's lights are snuffed out."

"Exactly."

"DC. Now." Alfred looked determined. "No ifs, ands, or buts. I need you to go to headquarters. Dig up any info you can get your hands on. We're short on time here."

Yao nodded. The American thought for a second, then added, "Take Francis with you. He knows my dad the best if that asshole decides to interfere. Plus, there could be something there with attached memories with some of the evidence. Go quickly. Get the first plane out of Boston – I don't care how much it is."

With one last nod the Chinaman gathered his notepad and pulled his cellphone out. He dialed Francis's number and left the house without a backwards glance.

Arthur came in with…pasta? Alfred wasn't sure; it looked more like a toxic black blob than food, but there was something red on top.

"You think we'll be able to stop this one?" the Britain asked.

"Not sure." Alfred shrugged. "Hopefully."

Arthur just nodded and continued to eat his lunch. Finally, his curiosity getting to him, Alfred asked, "Okay, what are you eating?"

"An omelet. It's my mother's receipt. Strange…it didn't come out the way I remembered…" After a moment, he offered some over. "Would you like a bite?"

"Oh no thanks. I'm full."

"Really? Aren't you always hungry? You complain about it constantly."

"Lost my appetite, ya know? The case and stuff…"

Alfred excused himself and left quickly. Even the stench that wannabe-food gave off was to too foul for him to take. Arthur watched him go in confusion. Thinking nothing of it, he continued to munch on his omelet. It did taste a bit different from what he remembered as a child. Had it always been this crunchy?

**ヘタリア**

It took Francis and Yao over a day to get into headquarters. The plane schedule hadn't been friendly, considering the first flight they could get on left at approximately eleven that evening. By the time they got to DC, the office was closed. Unable to do much of anything, the two waited until early morning to continue their search.

However, with absolutely no valid IDs on them, they had no way of getting in. It took and extremely angry phone call from Alfred to his father, the catch being, "Do you really think I'd be sending two of my agents to your HQ doorstep without the latest identification if it wasn't urgent?!"

With that said, they finally got in. A haughty looking guard grudgingly unlocked the door with the swipe of a card. "You have an hour." Then he slammed the door shut behind them.

"How rude! Oh well. We must search the vicinity quickly," said Francis. "We only have a day."

"I am well aware of that!" huffed Yao impatiently. "Where's the first case file?"

Francis turned on his Smartphone and began reading off numbers. "First case, 00038594, date: the 28th of January, 2004."

There were two from that date; picking out the one he wanted was easy. "Right. Next?"

"The next one doesn't date until 1990. July 5th, to be exact.

And they went on like this.

The room they had entered was full of filing cabinets, each filled with only paranormal cases, most of which were unsolved. They were sorted in chronological order by year spanning the country's entire history. Granted, most of the earlier cases went unreported until documentation started in the mid-1800's. Anything reported before then was kept on a single shelf. Everything on that shelf was as follows: several old diaries of former witch/ghost/demon hunters, a few sheets of loose parchment, and a Bible, all dating back to the 1700's (and some in the 1600's as well).

Yao ignored them. Instead, he went to the newer filing cabinets and began going through them instead. Francis continued listing off dates until they got to the last case, dated in 1812.

"Well," he sighed. "That's the last of them."

"Thank goodness," sighed Yao. "We can get out of here then."

It was then that the Chinaman accidentally knocked over some of the volumes from the dusty old shelf. Swearing, he picked them up and put them back in their place. It was then that he noticed there were six identical notebooks, and something about them caught his eye.

"Francis, do you see that?" he asked.

"_Oui, je les vois_. What? Is something troubling you about them?"

"_Shi a_." He walked closer. "Why six? I swear I've seen this number too many times in this case."

"Pray tell, what do you mean exactly?"

"I mean," he said, giving the Frenchman a meaningful look, "Each time you went to a body, you found six footprints. And then, after six days there came another murder. Six…six days, six footprints, and now I see six matching journals. Doesn't that seem a bit strange to you?"

"Hmm…" Francis put on a pair of gloves – for these things were practically antiques – and took the first volume. "1763, in the Year of our Lord," he read aloud. "Odd. Older than the rest."

He flipped through, a frown forming. "These are all written by a woman. The same woman. She talks of her husband, and her two sons, and sin. Why? And everything, everything has some reference to God in it. God…_oh mon Dieu_, this couldn't be her, could it?"

Yao picked up the last book and flipped feverishly to the last page. "'And now my time has come. But I sing of angels, and I know the Lord shall hear my voice, for he shall bless me with a gift to carve away all sin. I know of this, for the Lord has blessed me with power and shown me it is not witchcraft, but a gift from Him.' She was a mage! A magic user!"

"And then she has twisted this gift to murder fifty-seven people." Francis looked paler than usual.

Then Yao looked over the loose-leaf paper nearby. "Make that sixty. Look here."

And then they saw.

"_Merde_, we have to get this to Alfred immediately! Call him!"

"I can't," protested the smaller man. "They block all wireless access in the building. You should know that by now!"

"Go outside. I will collect the rest of the evidence. Go!"

Yao dashed out of the building, not caring that the security guards were following him, demanding identification. He got in without it, didn't he? Why did it matter to have it upon leaving?

The moment he was outside Yao pulled out his cell phone. Alfred was first on his speed dial.

Thankfully, the American picked up on the first ring. "Yeah? What'cha got?"

"We have a problem. We know who she is now-"

"That's great!" interrupted the loudmouth. "What's so bad about that?"

"Let me finish!" Yao shouted. "The problem is is that we have a death toll of sixty from her and this was obviously not of normal origins. Alfred, listen. Before this life she made for herself after becoming a ghost she was a mage."

"Oh shit!" Yao recognized Arthur's voice. Probably meant he was on speaker phone. "You're telling us that she was a witch, a legitimate one, before she even dared to kill after her own demise?"

"Yes, I found everything with Francis. I can try to go through it, but I don't know…there's too much!" Yao hissed out in stress. "I don't know! We just have to watch Jose and make sure nothing happens to him, but I'm afraid for him. If she really is a mage and she does get stronger with each murder, being that ice seems to be her element-"

"We may not be able to stop her." Arthur's voice was laced with concern. "I have no substantial amount magic flowing through me right now. It'll be downright impossible for me to battle her. Then Jose will die. Oh Gods…"

Alfred swallowed. "Hey, it's all good. We just have to keep this info classified and make sure Jose doesn't find out. No panic, more success, right?"

"What's this you don't wanna tell me, Fredericka?" came a burly Cuban voice. "Think I'm not man enough to handle it?"

The Britain and the American turned and looked over their shoulders. Jose Rodriguez stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, scowling. From the looks of things, it seemed he'd overheard everything.

* * *

_And there you have it. I'm just glad I was able to do this considering I lost my flash drive with the story on it (yep, for real, this is the second one I've lost this year; let's just say my mom's pretty pissed about it…). As always, thanks to everyone for reading this. I'm about halfway through the next part, so I'll try to get it up soon-ish._

_Hooray for Christmas break (though I find it a slightly pointless holiday ^^). Until next chapter!_

_-Sushi_


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